Father Figure
by electric violinist
Summary: A betaed version of the same story.  Brendan and Ste, AU - when Brendan is released from prison,he goes to some lengths to get Ste back into his life, only for fathers to get in the way.  Violently.
1. Chapter 1

**Broken hearted over the most recent events on the main show (it left me with such a nasty feeling alongside annoyance) I decided to make myself feel better by reading fanfiction, including my own. You know things are bad when reading about attempted rape makes you feel better. **

**I noticed a lot of typos, so sorry, I've not added to it, just improved a little. Please enjoy.**

Brendan had taken to hanging around outside Ste's flat.

He decided, as he shoved his now icy cold hands into his pockets, that it wasn't stalking if Stephen wanted him there. How could it be? He was just keeping an eye on him anyway. He had enough reasons to worry about Stephen, after all Silas, Warren and Danny had all shown themselves to be more than willing to hurt the boy. Brendan didn't want to look too deeply into the fact that they were all using Stephen to get to him. That was not a good place to go.

He had told Stephen that he loved him, but it wasn't really that simple. It wasn't a pure, beautiful selfless love. If it was, Brendan would be on the other side of the world by now. No, this was a desperate, passionate, all-consuming love, selfish and possessive. He couldn't live without Stephen. Prison had nearly killed him. He'd not managed more than a few days of separation voluntarily for… well longer than he dared contemplate.

As for Stephen wanting him there… Brendan didn't want to look at that too deeply either. Stephen really didn't know what he wanted. When Brendan had been cleared, Stephen had fallen into his arms like a starving man would on food. He'd cried away most of that night, clinging to Brendan like a lifeline. Brendan had almost laughed at how they were both behaving like soppy girls. The sex was like nothing they'd ever had before. Even Brendan would have struggled to call it fucking. It was definitely making love. Nothing animalistic about it. Nothing base. Nothing dirty.

The aftermath was what threw him. Stephen wanted nothing more to do with him. It was like he was too scared. He'd got up the next morning and run back to his. After a week of Stephen avoiding Brendan, and Brendan being completely bemused, Amy had come decided to take pity on him. Brendan could remember the conversation to the tiniest detail. After he'd made her tea, she jumped straight to business.

"Do you still love him?" she'd asked, in that infuriating 'I know what's going on here better than you do' voice of hers.

"You think I…" Brendan had mumbled, then forced a laugh.

She'd looked at him steadily, "I once told Ste you weren't capable of love, but I never believed you killed those women either. You had plenty of opportunities to hurt me, and reasons, but you never did. Hurting women, that isn't your style, is it?"

Brendan had visibly flinched. The implication that there were plenty of things that were his style was heavy in the air. Then she'd explained how Stephen felt, about why he'd not even tried to visit him in prison, who Stephen actually blamed for Rae's death.

And since then Brendan had been doing this. When he knew Amy wasn't in, or he thought he'd seen Stephen winding someone up, or just when he himself felt lonely, he'd stand here, eyes on the net curtains, half hidden in the shadows. Waiting for Stephen to be ready

* * *

><p>Ste peered through the curtains into the darkness that spread out past the orange glow radiating from his kitchen window. He knew Brendan was there again. He could only really make out the figure – tall, slim but muscular, thankfully rid now of that awful beard. The tash rash was bad enough. Well not really bad, not any more. In fact, he really missed the tash rash when it wasn't there. Ste wondered what that said about his mental health; that he missed physical discomfort just because it came from…<p>

Ste felt like hitting his own head against a nearby table. Another ridiculous example of his own mental problems. Brendan Brady was not someone to miss! He may as well miss being beaten up. So Brendan hadn't killed Rae, he had threatened her, terrified her, set her up with enough drugs to get locked up for a very long time. And so, he'd believed Brendan was guilty quicker than Cheryl or Amy. He didn't have the comfort they had. He knew Brendan was capable of murder.

"But that was different" an annoying little voice in his head reasoned. It was like when he'd understood Brendan selling drugs and using Carmel when it was to pay for Declan's treatment. Brendan protected the people he loved. Part of him understood that now he, Ste Hay, was one of those people. He was someone Brendan Brady loved and protected.

Ste growled to himself, pleased Amy and the kids weren't around to hear that aggression from him. He hoped they'd never experience aggression from anyone ever again, least of all him. He should probably stay away from Brendan if that was going to happen.

* * *

><p>Brendan realised he was fantasising again. What was it about this boy, who a rational part of him knew was just a scrawny chav, that made him, Brendan Brady, behave like a love-sick teenager? He should go home and give himself a smack, or maybe just find a rent boy to shag. He wondered vaguely if he could find Sean easily. Someone he could pretend was Stephen from behind.<p>

He better just make sure Stephen was OK first.

* * *

><p>The knock at the door took Ste by surprise. He was pretty sure Warren wasn't coming back, and Silas was definitely gone, but he knew they weren't the only people in the world to worry about. Of course, it was probably Brendan, finally bored of standing outside the flat, now ready to start bothering him again. Not that Ste really considered it bothering, never had really, and certainly not after that ridiculously quick reunion. How pathetic did he have to be to just to fall into the arms of that man again? No wonder Brendan thought it was still on.<p>

The knock sounded again, impatient. That was very Brendan. His terms, his rules, his way. Well if Ste wasn't ready, Brendan would just have to wait, and when the knock came for a third time, Ste growled and decided to let Brendan know just that.

He threw the door open, starting to shout, but already realising that not even Brendan could get inside the block from the spot outside on the other side that quickly.

"All right Ste?" greeted the voice he'd managed to successfully avoid for over three years. It made his heart jump in fear, and guilt rip through him, that this man could just invade Amy's home, his kids' home, whenever he wanted, and it was only some sort of miracle that had kept him away for so long. Ste launched himself back at the door, trying to shut out the evil that had just arrived, to keep it away, however little time it could last.

Terry Hay had expected that though, and had his foot in the way before the door had even halfway closed. He used his body weight, still that much more than Ste's, to get the rest of himself into the flat, before closing the door himself.

"Hey calm down, son," he laughed, "anyone would think you didn't want a visit from your old man."

"What do you want, Terry?" Ste tried to demand. It came out more as a grumble.

"Oh that's charming that is, isn't it? No 'alright Dad, fancy a cuppa?'"

Ste looked at him, waiting for something, anything to get this over with. "Well?" he asked.

Terry looked about himself leisurely. "That stuck up little tart left you yet?"

Ste hesitated, uncertain how to deal with that question. Terry wasn't exactly the type of father figure he wanted to discuss even normal relationships with. The thought of Brendan and Terry in the same room was, quite simply, terrifying.

He settled for "None of your business!"

Terry beamed. "I'll take that as a yes then."

"What do you want? Why're ye here?" Ste hated how obvious the panic in his voice was. He was a grown up, a father, and here was this pathetic excuse for a man who could still make him feel like a scrawny school boy.

"Like I said, why shouldn't your old man just pay you a visit?" Terry picked up one of the kid's toys, examined it, then dropped in uncaringly.

Anger started to surface in Ste.

"Oh, I'll give you three guesses shall I?"

Terry ignored the words and their tone. "Why did the skinny, mousey one leave you then?"

Ste let some of his anger loose, "Can't you see all the kid's toys? Do you think _I_ play with 'em?"

Terry, for once, looked a bit surprised. Ste smiled at his little victory. "Amy's taken the kids to see their granddad, the one that I'd actually trust to see 'em, so why don't you tell me what ye want and get lost?"

Terry looked at him levelly for a few moments.

"I lost me incapacity."

Ste rolled his eyes and groaned. Terry continued "So I thought, as we brought you up, fed you and clothed you fer God knows how long, ain't it time to give back, as they say?"

"Well, sorry Terry, but even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't, yeah? So just do one."

Ste barged past Terry, going to open the door, but probably should have known better. Terry grabbed his wrist, pulling it towards him before taking a finger. Ste felt the pain before he registered what Terry was doing.

"You know, if I broke a finger for each year you ate my food and slept in my house, you'd run out before I was done." He started carrying out the threat.

Ste cried out in pain.


	2. Chapter 2

Brendan sniffed with annoyance. Months without sex and Stephen thinks that he won't mind one mind blowing night and then bugger-all for months? Bugger nothing even. So, it hadn't been whole months, but it definitely felt that way to him.

He remembered vaguely that he had already decided to leave, that if Stephen wouldn't put out, others would. That was what his life had taught him. There was always someone else. So why was he hanging around here? He really should go.

His feet weren't listening to his brain.

He squinted through the window though he wasn't really close enough to see properly (Stephen would probably get all pissy if he knew he was there). He could just make out Stephen moving around in there. Was he dancing? The little moron enjoyed dancing, but dancing while Brendan was stood in the cold worrying about him? Not that he was worrying, obviously.

The idea that there was actually a second person in the flat occurred to Brendan slowly, mostly because he really didn't want to believe it. Stephen dancing with some bloke when he'd seemed so in love just a few weeks ago? The little…

Then suddenly one of the figures was on his knees. And not in a good way.

Brendan's feet were moving now.

…

The left handed jab to the Adam's apple had hurt. Doubly so because Terry Hay really hadn't expected it. He might have kept the upper hand, though, if it hadn't been followed by a knee to his family jewels.

The latter landed him on his knees. He let go of Ste's fingers to protect the area he prized so highly.

He had barely recovered enough to stand when a tall, dark stranger with a moustache burst through the front door.

Ste didn't seem surprised by this, and if the lad hadn't addressed the man straight away, Terry might have thought he was seeing things.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ste demanded in a voice not unlike the one he'd used to greet Terry.

The tall man glanced at Terry who was still defending his privates and rubbing his Adam's apple.

"I…. erm… I saw you…" the guy was Irish and clearly a bit of a stutterer. Terry saw that sort of thing as weakness. Ste had stuttered when he was scared.

"Well fuck off, Paddy, yeah? It ain't your business." Terry said, standing slowly. The stranger turned his pale blue gaze at him. It was steady and cold, but Terry was more interested in his bruised parts at that moment.

"Terry was just leaving. Bit like you Brendan." Ste was looking cocky. Terry hated it when Ste looked cocky. He probably thought Terry wouldn't try to get back at him if there was a witness. Thick little shit. He'd learnt that lesson before, why should anything have changed?

"Come here you little scrote!" he shouted and dived at the lad, ready to kick the shit out of him.

Two things happened at once.

First the little brat dodged out of the way, and though still nursing his own right hand, gave Terry a decent punch on the nose.

Secondly, Terry's arm was grabbed from behind, and, when he landed on a kitchen surface, there was a heavy Irish bloke on top of him. The trapped arm was pulled up behind him painfully.

"That's no way for a guest to behave, now, is it?" The voice was playful, but the body language threatened danger in every muscle.

"I was handling it meself, Brendan!" moaned Ste, but again with no surprise in his voice, and Terry got his first inkling that this was actually quite normal for the bloke.

"Get off me!" he grunted, panicked.

"No!" announced the Irish guy. Brendan, that was what Ste had called him.

"Ah, just get out yeah?" Ste flounced off in the direction of the door and the Irish guy straightened up, but kept one hand on Terry's back and the other on his arm as he guided him out of the flat, into the cold. As soon as they were outside, the Irish bloke pushed him over, announced cockily "Bye then!" and turned to go back inside. Except the door closed on his face.

The Irish man laughed, but it wasn't the laughter of someone who was amused. Terry stood up, ready to skulk off, but the movement brought him back to Brendan's attention, and he very suddenly found himself up against a wall with an angry man in his face.

"Who the fuck are ye, and what are you doing here?" Brendan's voice was a low, menacing whisper.

Terry didn't like this sort of thing; some big man in his face was scary. He was used to women and scrawny kids, not six foot blokes. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to be bullied by some bloke he'd never even met.

"None of your business!" he said, and tried to push his way off the wall.

Brendan held him effortlessly. "Wrong answer," he growled, before spinning Terry around and pulling his arm up behind him.

* * *

><p>In his flat, Ste wondered if he should worry about Terry. Brendan could be quite unpredictable. Then he decided he couldn't worry about Terry if he tried.<p>

A text arrived. Lucas had fallen asleep so Amy was going to stay at Mike's tonight with the kids. Good, at least, if anything else happened, the kids wouldn't be disturbed.

He found a bandage, wrapped it around his fingers, pleased they weren't broken, then slumped down to watch some telly.

The next knock on the door came about twenty minutes later. It was much politer than the previous one.

Ste considered not answering it. He was tired and angry and didn't want to fight. He stayed where he was, pretending to watch Corrie for a few more minutes. Then the knock came again, insistent but not angry.

He switched off the telly and went to the door, but left it closed as he called "What do you want?"

"Stephen?" Despite himself, Ste was relieved it was Brendan. "Stephen, open up will ye?"

"Brendan," Ste sighed, not sure what to say else.

"Stephen, please!"

Ste opened the door a crack. "What?" he demanded.

Brendan looked at him with those infuriatingly blue eyes. "Can I come in?"

"No," Ste replied, simply. He glanced around outside, "Where's Terry?"

"Oh, he had to go," said Brendan with forced casualness. He was stood far closer to the barely open door than any normal person would.

"Right, because you threw him off a cliff? Or just bashed his head in with a hammer?"

Brendan mumbled a few words, then let out a panicked laugh.

"Go home Brendan," Ste tried to shut the door, but Brendan put his foot in the way.

"I can't Stephen," he growled and paused. "He said he was your Dad."

Stephen grunted, "Well he's not. He just married me Mum. Now will you go?"

Brendan stayed where he was, still for a moment. "He… he attacked ye Stephen I…"

"What were you jealous?"

"What?"

"That you're not the only one who's beaten me up a lot and got away with it?"

"Stephen!" Brendan looked appalled. "I'm not… I'd never hurt my kid, Stephen."

"If you say so. I think all you mean is that it hasn't happened yet."

"Stephen…"

"You told me that you loved me, right?"

Brendan looked carefully to each side before he said "Yeah."

Ste rolled his eyes, "And did you mean it?"

Brendan lowered his voice "Course I did, Stephen, every word!"

"Well, you hurt the people you're supposed to love, don't ya?" Ste was nearly shouting now, tears in his eyes. Brendan's eyes were wet too. "So, maybe I don't want to be loved by you."

Brendan looked broken.

"Are we done?" Ste continued.

Brendan felt a wave of anger and frustration. It was exactly what he would say when he thought Stephen was wasting his time.

"Why don't you go find Terry?" the lad added, "You two have a lot in common."

This time he managed to get the door closed.


	3. Chapter 3

Brendan had a lot of thinking to do.

Stephen had shown himself determined not to get back together. Brendan's response should be 'so what?' His response should have been 'so what?' all those months ago, when Stephen had accused him of trying to kill Amy, or when Stephen had made Rae an actual girlfriend, or he'd been so angry when Brendan had punched that designer prat, or when Danny had threatened to…

No. That thought led Brendan to bad places, without Stephen. The idea terrified him. He'd tried to persuade himself it was just because he was a friend of Cheryl's and a good father, and fathers were important. But he knew it wasn't as simple as that. The thought of living without Stephen around was no longer something he could contemplate.

So what was the alternative? Live with Stephen? The thought was laughable. You live with women, make a family with women, look after women. That's what women were for, weren't they? Men weren't supposed to live with men, make house with other blokes, do ridiculous things like get married. No matter what that feeling in your gut made you want to do to beautiful, skinny, infuriating bar men. That was dirty and shameful. What men did to satisfy that filthy urge, before they went home to their wives and families.

But Stephen was something else. He satisfied the urge, probably more than anyone ever had before, but he added something else too. Macca, Vinnie, the others before them, they had all been interchangeable. When one became inconvenient, he switched to another, whoever was closest. As soon as he was sure of secrecy of course. But Stephen was… addictive. More than addictive. It was more than a perfect, powerful sexual fit. It was as if, sometimes, he would imagine a marriage. Watching Stephen and Declan play football, or being woken up by bouncing toddlers, his own arms full of Stephen.

Marriage! More like a mirage!

But maybe, if Cheryl could accept them, and Declan…

But they weren't everyone important to him.

Eileen. Good catholic girl. That was one of the reasons Brendan went for her. That and how the other lads had talked about her. She'd been some kind of Holy Grail for them, a challenge beyond them all, but something they wanted so much. Brendan had succeeded by being what she needed; kind, attentive, generous and sexless, at least until the time all good Catholics experience sex. He never wanted her to realise what was behind that deception. She'd thought he was just a perfect gentleman.

Paddy. God only knew what he would do. He'd inherited Cheryl's energy, Brendan's morals and Eileen's innocent expression. Proper little scamp, with awful school reports.

His ma, Cheryl's ma, their Dad. God knows what any of them would say. Well, he knew what his father would say. He shivered at the thought. His father could never know. That meant never letting either matriarch know. Cheryl's ma told their Dad everything, thought it was how marriages worked. Brendan had found that one out the hard way after a truly awful day at school once. His own ma, of course, would take great pleasure in letting his father know anything that would upset him. Brendan could imagine the glee at letting the old man know what a failure he was for having a queer for a son.

But Stephen would never understand that. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. Like it was anyone else's business. And like _he'd _gone out of the way to tell his folks. Though, meeting Terry, Brendan could understand why he'd had nothing to do with them. Just because Stephen didn't have anything to do with his parents, though, didn't mean Brendan was the same. Whatever his Dad had been like, he was still his Dad.

And he could never explain all that to Cheryl. She saw their Dad as a gentle, loving man who got a bit tipsy and made a mistake by marrying too young. It wasn't Brendan's job to disillusion her on that.

Maybe he could explain it all to Stephen. If Stephen would let him of course. He seemed to want that sort of stuff talked about, and he needed a reason to give Brendan another chance. And could Brendan carry on like everything was normal when at any moment he could accidently bump into Stephen, but not be able to enjoy his nubile young body, his sassy attitude, his lip? No, he had to do what he had always known he would.

He went to Stephen's after work. Amy was in, Stephen didn't want to see him, needed space and time she'd told him sadly. Her pity was frustrating, though admittedly, after the Rae fiasco, possibly more convenient than fear, so he let it pass. She was as important to Stephen as Eileen was to him, possibly more so, as their relationship didn't seem to be found upon precarious lies.

He had realised a while ago that Cheryl had played with the rota at the club to help Stephen avoid him. That had been very annoying for a while, but now, he realised it could work to his advantage. He did, of course, know Stephen's hours, and could work around them.

….

Ste actually quite enjoyed walking home at 2.30 am. The clubbers were usually gone by that time, and the night was still and silent except for the odd nocturnal creature or passing car. It was calming, in the orange glow of the streetlamps, walking with just his own breathing for company, his hoodie and jacket protecting him from the cold.

After over a year walking home at this time, he'd never think twice about taking the shortcut through the alley. There was never anyone about, and he knew as well as anyone that you were more likely to be hurt by a partner than a stranger. Chester's killer Granddad excluded of course. And _he_ couldn't hurt anyone anymore of course.

So he didn't feel a single twang of fear as he took his usual journey home.

Until he heard the footsteps.

They didn't really scare him; after all, it was a public right of way; of course other people might walk down it. He tried to sneakily look back, but as he paused, so did the feet. He looked around but the alley was very dark at that time of night, and he couldn't really make anything out.

He strolled onward, towards home once more, this time slightly more alert. He noticed a car parked across the end of the alley and relaxed a little – there was somewhere to hide should anything be about to kick off. He picked up his pace, and listened. He couldn't decide if the faint sounds were his imagination now. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, and his heart suddenly skipped a beat, before lurching into racing thuds.

The tall dark outline of a man was close behind him. Ste's breathing started coming in sweeping gasps now. He was nearing the end of the alley, but so was the man following, so close now Stephen could hear his breathing. Time to run now.

He managed a couple of strides before the figure caught him, shoved him against the car and trapped him between two muscular arms. He shouted out a protest, which the guy ignored. Instead he just whispered "Get in the car!"

"No!" Ste's voice sounded like a child refusing to go to bed. He pushed at the figure's chest but it wasn't enough even to make the man give the smallest amount.

"Just get in the car and it'll all be fine, yeah?"

He recognised the voice.

"Brendan?" he demanded, incredulously. "What do you think you're doing?"

Brendan sighed angrily, "Just get in the car, will ye, Stephen!"

"Why should I?" Ste's fear had dissipated the moment he recognised Brendan's voice, and had been replaced with that anger with which he often greeted the man, but which also had frustrating associations for him.

Brendan brought his face very close to his. "Because if you don't I will have to make ye!" Ste became very aware of a hand that was slowly moving down his side and behind him, and the closeness of Brendan, his scent, the feel of his body so close, the thought of where that hand was travelling to. His breathing became ragged again, his focus on the man in front of him dropped to his lips, his tongue darting out to moisten his own.

Brendan smirked.

There was a loud click and suddenly the wall behind Ste shifted forwards. He stumbled slightly, remembering it wasn't a wall; it was the door of a car. Brendan looked annoyingly smug. "Get in, yeah!"

Ste humphed, but he got in, wondering if his own responses to being kidnapped in a dark alley by his abusive, murderer ex were all they should be. Brendan went round and climbed in the driver's door. He barely looked at Stephen before starting the engine and driving into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed. Please keep reviewing, it's great to know what you all think.**

**I got thoroughly overexcited by my idea for a story, and now it's getting towards the bits that matter, and I've realised issues. 1) Just to make sure everyone knows, I am aware all of this will become AU pretty much as soon as Brendan is back. 2) I hope Terry is more or less as he was, but my characterisation of him is based entirely on 3 Youtube clips I found, and 3) I realised we didn't even find out Brendan's Dad's name, let alone anything about him. I decided he was a certain way. I'm sure they won't go there in the soap, it just seemed to work. And provide plenty of drama.**

**So this is all supposition. I hope it's all the sort of supposition you can enjoy and forgive me for. I'm certainly enjoying writing it.**

**Thanks again!**

It was pitch black when Ste woke up. The gentle motion and hum of the car must have lolled him to sleep. Well it was three in the morning now. He peered around, feeling the cling of the seat belt still across his chest,

He jumped a mile when the car's inside light popped on, Brendan's face loomed out of the darkness. His face was a blank mask. Ste looked at him expectantly.

"Well?" Ste demanded, "What do you want?"

Brendan looked at his lap, his hands fidgeting on the steering wheel.

"I thought…" he began, then changed tack. "We need to talk."

Ste snorted. That was an understatement.

"Will ye… can we?" Brendan looked across at him.

Ste turned in his seat to face him fully. "Go on then." His voice was high, attacking. It made Brendan halt again. Ste sighed, sitting back into his seat again. The silence hung between them and stretched out.

"I'm sorry."

It was so quiet, Ste wasn't certain he'd heard it. Every time he heard those words from Brendan, his heart gave a little flutter. It reminded him that Brendan had come such a long way. He remembered those times Brendan had managed to make Ste apologise for the beatings. That was progress wasn't it?

But it wasn't enough. He'd apologised before.

"You've said that before," Ste managed.

Brendan was quiet, but Ste saw his head duck. The move turned into a nod.

Ste continued. "What do you want to happen next Brendan?"

The Irish man stayed silent.

"Because I don't think you know."

Brendan grunted.

Ste sighed. "You're a just a coward" he finished and looked out of the window, wondering briefly where they were. Brendan's voice cut through his musings.

"You're right." His voice was husky, low, quiet. "I am scared. But I know… I know I want you."

Ste felt the tug towards Brendan again. But he'd heard that before too. Brendan continued.

"I love you."

"But… you don't want to be with me do you? Not properly, not where people can see, where you can't deny it."

There was a pause. Ste felt the grim satisfaction. This was going to go round in circles again, like it always had. Maybe they'd both listen properly this time.

"I do."

Ste wasn't certain he'd heard that. "What?" he asked.

Brendan let out an unsteady breath.

"I do want to be with you, properly, where people can see."

Ste studied his face, waiting for the next excuse. "But…" he prompted.

"I need to…." Brendan stopped again. He fidgeted with the steering wheel again, and Ste realised it was nerves. Suddenly his voice changed, became accusatory. "You betrayed me Stephen!"

The change in subject took Ste by surprise. "You what?"

Brendan's face had turned, approaching some of his angriest looks. "You just believed I did it. You never asked me, you never thought twice, you just…" he seemed too angry to carry on this time. Ste panicked, his hand going for the door, forgetting the seatbelt. Brendan didn't though, he put his hand over the catch, so Ste couldn't undo it, his other reaching for Ste's face, taking hold with a strong grip. Ste closed his eyes, bracing himself for the beating he was sure to expect. The tears of his own shame wet his eyes in anticipation of what was to come – he'd done it again, put himself in this man's power.

No beating came.

When Ste opened his eyes again, he saw that Brendan had moved closer, still holding Ste's face, but having let go of the seat belt. He took up Ste's right hand in his. "Tell me why." He said. "How could you think I would do that?"

Ste wasn't sure how to answer that without making Brendan angry. There was no escape from the car unless Brendan let him go. Maybe he could force the grip off, scratch the hand until Brendan let go? But Ste couldn't start the violence now. That would be a move in completely the wrong direction. He decided honesty was best.

"Cos I've seen you when you're angry," he said, "and I know how much you love your kids, that you'd give anything for them not to know. And you tried to hurt Rae before." Brendan deflated before his eyes, let go, sat back, but Ste couldn't stop now – all this needed to be said. "And all them times you threatened Amy, she was so scared of ya. And… and I know you can… I know you killed someone. It's not like I can say you don't hurt people, is it?"

"Enough." Brendan's voice was exhausted. "I've never hurt a woman."

"What about what Mal said? Was that true?"

"What? Where did that come from?"

"Well, Cheryl didn't fall out with you 'cos you were gay, did she?"

Brendan rubbed his face with his hands.

"Did you hurt Cheryl?" Ste asked quietly.

"I didn't know it was her."

Ste took a shaky breath. "I think you should take me home now, Brendan."

"No."

"Brendan…"

"I can't just…"

"I'll walk then."

Ste got his seatbelt undone this time and threw open the door.

From the faint glow of the car's inside light, Ste could make out trees and grass. They were somewhere in the country side then, but he could hear a road not far off. He started towards the sound.

Of course Brendan is not known for being slow. He overtook Ste in seconds, and had grabbed him and pushed him back against the car bonnet before Ste could react. Ste found himself almost lying back against the car, his feet barely touching the ground, and Brendan's hands holding his arms at his side, the Irishman's face wild and too close.

The thrill of panic rushed through him, frustratingly accompanied by the thrill of something else. "Get off me!" he demanded, struggling, though Brendan was holding him bodily where he was.

"I can't!" Brendan's eyes were wet now.

"Just let go!"

"Stephen, I can't! I physically can't! I need you, I love you!" Ste managed to get an arm free, but Brendan just grabbed it again, getting in closer, pushing both Ste's arms over his head, "I cannot stay away from ye. I've tried, but I can't. Prison nearly killed me, Stephen, because I couldn't get near you. I can't leave you alone, I can't leave you, I cannot live without you!"

Ste's struggles slowed to a stop. For a while only the sound of the breathing could be heard. Eventually Ste said "So…"

Brendan breathed into his face.

"So?"

"So what happens now?" asked Ste.

Brendan's expression softened. His face moved closer and closer to Ste's, drawn together like they always were. Ste knew he should fight, run, get as far away from Brendan as he could, but he felt the same way. He'd never been able to resist Brendan, not really. And Brendan's body was so close, his face so near, Ste could just…

He started the kiss.

In the darkness, on the bonnet of Brendan's car, they came to the agreement. Neither could have told you what that agreement was though.

…

Amy would describe her emotions the following morning as closer to annoyed than worried. Though it wasn't common for Ste not to get home until the morning, it had happened before. She didn't really mind what he did with his private life anymore, it wasn't her business, but she did expect a word from him, after all, the kids would ask where Daddy was, and she needed to arrange childcare around him.

She put the kids in front of the telly, with their breakfasts of toast and jam, spread thinly to minimise the mess. She hoped Little Robots was enough to keep their attention from the phone call she was about to make.

The phone didn't ring, it went straight to voicemail.

"Stephen Hay, if you're going to be a dirty stop out, that's your business, but if I don't hear from you soon, I'm going to have your balls for earrings. What do you expect me to do with the kids today? Where have you been? Call me! Now!"

She hung up, then went to get herself ready for the day, and to dig out the clothes the kids would need. She had just dragged Lucas far enough from the TV for him to help rather than hinder his own dressing when she finally heard the door. She stood up, ready to scold, accidently letting Lucas run back to the TV.

"Will you turn your phone on?" She realised that wasn't much of a greeting, but didn't care, "Where have you been?"

Ste went straight to the kitchen, and put the kettle on. "Brendan kidnapped me."

Amy's mouth dropped. "He did what?"

Ste rubbed his eyes. "He wanted to talk."

Amy didn't know what to make of that. "What happened?" she asked.

"We talked."

Amy rolled her eyes. "And…?"

"And what?" Ste busied himself finding cups and tea bags.

"What happened?" asked Amy, again.

"I told ye…"

"But what did you decide?"

Ste flopped against a counter. "I don't know. It's not over though. We realised that."

Amy sighed. Was that progress? She didn't know what progress she really wanted for them now.

…..

Cheryl was making a fry up when Brendan strolled through the door.

"Here he is, the dirty stop out. Where've you been, hey?"

Brendan grunted, and strolled towards his bedroom.

"Brendan Brady!" cried Cheryl, "you stop right there!"

Brendan grunted again.

"Was it Ste?" she asked, trying to hide the hope.

Brendan hesitated before replying. "Yeah."

"Oooh, so what happened? Did you forgive him for not believing you? Did he forgive you for … everything?" she giggled. "If you weren't my brother I'd be desperate to know who was on top."

Brendan grunted again. "I'd hope the latter would be obvious."

Cheryl gasped. "So, you're back together?"

"Sort of, Chez, just leave it, yeah? It's going to take time."

"Oh, you're no fun" she joked. "But I've got a great surprise for you!"

Brendan looked at her fully.

She grinned.


	5. Chapter 5

When Ste got to work the following day, he had a quick search for Brendan. He found a cleaner who told him Cheryl had opened up for her a little while ago, and then left. She didn't know where Brendan was. Ste thought he could make a pretty good guess. Brendan might enjoy shagging him, but he was kidding himself every time he believed the rest.

No, that was an overreaction. He might just have a headache. Or have overslept. It was possible.

He started getting the bar ready, re-stocking the fridges, straightening up the place. He went down to the cellar to collect the bottles, and while he was down there, sorted some of the mess out. He stomped back up stairs a good ten minutes later, the crate of bottles heavy in his hands. He spotted him, leaning casually against the bar, dressed in a grey suit and facing away from the stairs.

Ste put the bottles down quietly. Now was as good a time as any to test his lover's resolve, he guessed. The sort of thing that would have got him punched a year ago. Making a move. There was no one about, so it couldn't cause a real argument, unless Brendan really hadn't changed. This was the way to find out.

He moved across the floor stealthily. If this was to be a proper test, Brendan couldn't be prepared for it. As he got closer though he realised it wouldn't work like that; his target's neck had straightened, a little, aware of his approach. Never mind, he thought. It was still a good test.

He brought his hand slowly and gently across the shoulder in front of him, and let it rest there. "Hey," he said.

With lightening speed a hand gripped his wrist, and pulled, crashing him into the bar. A second later another was at his neck.

A familiar face glared down at him.

But it wasn't a face he knew at all. It had Cheryl's chin and Declan's eyes, and an awful lot of Brendan. But it was a face he'd never seen before.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" growled the stranger, and Ste saw the greys mixed into the short dark hair, the more traditional shirt and instantly felt stupid.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I thought you was…" he paused. If this was who he thought it was, he knew he couldn't say 'Brendan'. He finished lamely, "someone else."

"Who?" The man laughed the short uncontrolled laugh that was so familiar, "your girlfriend?" His hand tightened slightly.

"No," Ste struggled for what to say, then realised, he hadn't done anything wrong."What do you think you're doing? Attack everyone who mistakes you for someone else, do you?"

The man moved closer. "Only those who cross the line."

"I'd rather you didn't threaten my staff, if it's all the same to you, Dad," come a casual voice from the office, "he's got a bar to stock before opening time."

Mr Brady barely moved, but Ste could see Brendan leaning casually against the office doorway. Or would be casual. It was a similar stance to the one he used when talking to Pete. There was a tension to his shoulder, restlessness in his hands.

"Just teaching the lad respect for his elders, son," Mr Brady jeered.

Anger flashed across Brendan's face, but it passed quickly. "Yeah, well, when you're done, I need to talk to him about some leave he's asked for, so if you could hurry it along so… Stephen?" Brendan let out a breathy laugh, then disappeared into the office. Ste's full attention now rested on the elder Brady.

Mr Brady sniffed, then lunged his face forward. Ste flinched, and the older man laughed, then helped him up. "Here you go, son," he said, like he'd helped him up after a fall, rather than been the one to put him there. "Chop chop, yeah? You got stuff to do."

Ste didn't need telling twice. But he didn't get far before a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Mr Brady moved his mouth right up to Ste's ear, before whispering, huskily "Just so we're clear, I don't have the same weaknesses for a pretty young arse that my son has. You won't get away with any of that crap while I'm here. Do you understand?"

Ste was caught off guard. He had not expected that. He was so surprised, he didn't respond until a harsher grip on his shoulder reminded him and he nodded stiffly. "Good boy" Brady whispered, and let go after two manly pats on the shoulder. Ste had to force his legs not to run into the office.

Brendan was waiting impatiently, pouring over the rota, Ste assumed, to keep the lie going. Ste shut the door behind him, and realised his hands were shaking.

Brendan waited a few moments, still staring at the rota. Ste stepped forward, uncertain where to start. Brendan had only spoken of his father once before. Ste would have expected someone less… well, Brendany.

"You alright?" the Irishman finally asked, in a quiet voice, and Ste realised he was worried about being overheard.

"Yeah," Ste answered.

"Good," said Brendan, quickly, as though trying to stop Ste continuing. "So, I thought, the next couple of weeks look good for some time off. Cheryl and her Ma are just unpacking, and then we're showing them both around, so finish your shift, and then you can spend some time with those lovely kids of yours." He was talking like a boss, as though he still thought they could be overheard, despite the hushed tones and closed doors, and the fact that sense told Ste the guy out there must be nearing sixty.

Ste decided to answer like an employee. "I can't take any more time off. I can't afford it."

"Paid leave, then," Brendan was barely looking at him.

"I've taken all my paid leave, and all the other bar staff know it. They'll think I'm shagging the boss if I get more."

"Stephen!" Brendan was using his warning voice now. Ste interrupted him.

"You can't just suspend me every time one of your relatives shows up!"

Brendan sighed, "I'm not… Stephen, we just…" he paused, breathing for a moment, "you can't want to spend time with him, do ya?"

Ste winced. Obviously. "That's not the point though, is it?"

"Stephen," Brendan's voice got even lower, more intense, and he stood up and rounded the table "if he finds out about…"

"He already knows!" Ste interrupted again, his voice ringing clearly, much louder than he meant it to be.

"He doesn't!" hissed Brendan.

"He just said…"

"He doesn't know what you think he knows!" Brendan's voice was even lower, even quieter, but so intense Ste thought he was putting his whole being into every word. "Stephen, I've done a lot of things because I'm a coward, and I'm selfish, but this…" He reached out and took Ste's hand in his, "can you just believe me, that I'm doing this because… because I am selfish and I am a coward, and because _I love you_!"

Ste felt himself believing the hushed words despite himself. There was the same desperation in his voice that he'd used to talk about Danny Houston. Ste studied him for a while. "All right," he said, his voice as quiet as Brendan's this time, "I'll do it, I'll hide away while your Dad's here, but you've got to do something for me."

"What?" Brendan asked.

"Amy wants a night out with Michaela tomorrow, so it's just me and the kids at home." Brendan pursed his lips, obviously guessing where this was going, "Come over. We'll put the kids to bed and I'll cook for you. You can tell your family you've got business you can't get out of. He probably won't even question it."

Ste thought maybe he'd pushed too far this time, but Brendan's expression had gone thoughtful, like he was really considering it. Ste took a step closer, hoping his undeveloped skills in seduction could tip the balance. "Come on, Bren," he whispered, "you said yesterday that you needed me, that you couldn't live without me. So this is all of me. Me, you, the kids, a quiet night in…" He brought up their joint hands to his face, then bottled his next move. Instead he just held them there. "What do you say?"

Brendan's mouth twitched. Ste could almost call it a smile. "Alright, Mr Hay," he took Ste's hand down again, and joined it with his other to shake them. "You drive a hard bargain, but it's a deal. I'll be over around seven." He glanced at the door, then pulled Ste forward so he nearly toppled over and joined their mouths together.

When they came up for air, both were slightly flushed. Brendan used a finger to stroke Ste's top lip, and smiled. "Tash rash!"

Brendan coughed, and pulled away. "Get to it then, you've got crates to shift. Get cracking." He got back behind the desk, but Ste could see through it this time, and could barely suppress the grin as he wondered back out of the office.

Until he realised Mr Brady was glaring straight at him. He didn't seem to have moved, but his whole body now faced the office door. Ste's smile disappeared, and he swallowed. He ducked his head before he went off to deal with the bar. Rhys was just arriving as Ste passed the stairs, and he was hugely relieved not be left alone with that man.


	6. Chapter 6

Brendan pretended to go through the invoices, his mouth threatening to break into a grin. He wondered how the evening would play out. Maybe Ste wanted him to play with the kids? The idea didn't seem to disturb him as much as he knew it should. He could work with that. Leah was an angel and Lucas a little monkey.

And when they'd gone to bed, he'd have Stephen all to himself. Just the two of them, no hurry. He just had to get past…

"All right son?" asked his father, strolling into the office.

"Certainly am, Dad," Brendan replied jovially, "just sorting out a few more things, then I'm all yours. Any sign of the women yet?" Brendan was not happy that Cheryl had decided that this was the best way to deal with the parents. Was she expecting him to 'fess up' to their Dad? If she was, she didn't know either of them as well as she thought she did. But then, that wasn't a surprise.

"Not yet son, you know how women are." His Dad casually wondered further into the office, a would-be casual movement of his hand knocking the door too. "Speaking of, how's all that stuff going?" His Dad's voice was conspiratorial. This conversation was exactly why Brendan had left him at the bar and pretended to work. But maybe this was better than him talking to Stephen. "Anyone worth mentioning?" the old man finished.

Brendan laughed.

"No future Mrs Brady on the horizon then?" His Dad's voice was casual.

Brendan made careful eye contact, "Not in the near future, no."

His dad grinned manically. The effectiveness of that grin was one of the reasons he'd adopted it as a scare tactic himself. "Having fun for the time being though, what?"

Brendan grinned back, aware that his was still a pale imitation of his Dad's, "A gentleman never tells."

His father laughed loudly at that, the said "Cheryl was going on about some tart called Mitzee, with more hair than brains, then suddenly, not a word about it. 'He'll have to tell ye himself,' she kept saying. So, something you want to tell me, son?"

Brendan sniffed. "Mitzee was a slapper, that's all. Found her in bed with another bloke. Cheryl was just trying to spare my feelings."

His Dad was still for a while, tense. Then he sniffed. "Hope you made him pay for that."

Brendan though about the last time he saw Warren. "You could say that, yeah!" He grinned.

"Good." His father sniffed again, "I'll go check out this bar staff of yours then."

Brendan watched him go with a sense of dread. He knew exactly which member of staff his father had in mind.

…..

Ste had now more or less finished filling the fridges. He'd put the crates back, out of the way, and was sorting out the ice when he heard slow, confident footsteps approaching him. He hoped it was Brendan, and took a moment to appreciate the irony of that.

"I'll have a whiskey when you're ready, lad," Mr Brady's voice was similar to Brendan's, but with a cruelly edge. Or maybe that was Ste reading too much into the situation. Brendan had actually punched him the first day they met. Maybe this meeting was actually going well.

Ste forced a smile. "I'm not supposed to serve alcohol before we open, but I guess as you're the boss's Dad I can make an exception. Just this once, mind!"

"Much obliged son," Mr Brady replied. He watched as Ste dug out the whiskey, and served it as Brendan took it, without even asking how Mr Brady liked. He'd handed it over and Mr Brady had taken a sip before he even realised. The older man looked at Ste, as if challenging him to ask for money. Ste saw a way round the embarrassment.

"That's on the house. I'm sure Brendan won't mind."

Mr Brady sniffed, "I'm not so sure about that." He took another sip, "sometimes I think… I think that boy wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire."

Ste did not want to discuss his gay lover with his lover's homophobic father. He tried to make an excuse, "Well, I've got to…"

"He doesn't tell me anything anymore," Mr Brady interrupted. "All secrets and barefaced lies. He didn't even tell me when he left his wife, we had to find out from Cheryl." He looked heartbroken at the thought. "He never forgave me for leaving his Ma." Brady made eye contact with Ste. "You got kids?"

This was shaky ground.

"Yeah, two, a boy and a girl."

Brady raised his eyebrows at that, clearly surprised. "And you still with their Mam?"

"We… er… we're not like, together, but we live together." Ste decided not to say more than that. He could still feel the bar digging into his back from earlier, and he didn't want any repeats.

"So you understand right? You do stuff, make choices when you're too young, and they're the wrong ones. And you do what you can to make it right, but…" the older man sighed and ran a hand across his face, "sometimes it's not enough."

"Yeah," Ste agreed, tentatively, "I mean, I've made plenty of mistakes me. Amy's dead understanding though!"

"That your wee girl?" The older man's face held a lightness to it, like Brendan's did when he talked about his kids. Ste relaxed. Safe ground.

"No, Amy's their Mum. My little girl's called Leah, she's five. My son, Lucas, he's two"

"That's a great age," Mr Brady replied, warmly, "before they start to answer back. When they still want to play with you."

Ste grinned. "Well, I think our Leah's becoming a teenager already. She's learnt loads of ways to get round Mummy and Daddy, she's dead clever."

Mr Brady laughed pleasantly. All the earlier stuff had been forgotten. "Brendan was like that. Sneaky little brat. He was selling drags off his cigarette on the playground before he was twelve. We got two letters home about it, but they never managed to prove it. Or stop him. He was a good lad though, bought his Ma a bottle of perfume every Christmas with that money."

Ste was entranced by the story. It sounded so much like Brendan, he was sure his face looked like a dopey, loved-up teenager.

Mr Brady sighed again, his face back to its earlier sadness. "It would never have worked with me and his Mam. We were only kids ourselves when we got together. We'd have killed each other in the end. You get that, don't you lad?"

Ste had flashes of Amy's tears, burns, bruises. "Yeah, I get it," he said, sadly.

"I wish Brendan could." The old man's face was gentle, regretful, but Ste felt the eyes were on his own face with as much intensity as Brendan used.

The loud crash of the door downstairs reverberated through the club, breaking the spell. Women's voices going a mile a minute could be heard, gradually getting nearer. There was a sudden shout of "And why's my club not open yet?" a girly cackle, and Cheryl and a fair-haired older woman arrived up the stairs.

Cheryl's face lit up like a Christmas tree to see Ste and her Dad so close, and Ste instantly knew she'd made assumptions.

"You took your time," growled Mr Brady, but it was the warmest growl Ste had ever heard; the sort of voice he used to play the baddy when telling the kids stories; nothing scary, just the hint at 'this means I'm being scary.'

"There was a lot to catch up on," exclaimed the blond woman, obviously Cheryl's Mum. Ste could see where Chez got her contagious enthusiasm from, and her fashion sense. You needed sunglasses to look at the pair of them today. "It's been too long, hasn't it Cheryl?"

"Absolutely," Cheryl's expression seemed to be pure glee, "And if it wasn't for us two, you men would barely know each other. You never tell each other anything!"

Mr Brady grinned, and threw an arm around his daughter's shoulders, "What'd we do without ye, eh?"

"Disappear into black holes, probably," laughed Cheryl, "So what have yous been up to while you were waiting for us?" Her eyes moved between Ste and Mr Brady hopefully.

"Just getting to know young Stephen here," replied Mr Brady.

Cheryl jumped in so fast, a cheater couldn't have beaten her. "Oh… em….gee, he told you?" She nearly gasped.

"Told me what?"

Cheryl's grin faded.

"Noth..."

"Oh, she's just overexcited." Brendan's voice carried well for one so quiet, "Our Stephen here might be nominated for some local barman award, but as I said to Stephen, flirting with a punter with a big gob ain't the same as winning, and frankly, who'd give an award to a skinny kid with the speed of a tortoise, the upper body strength of a kitten and bad timekeeping, eh?" He grinned at everybody, but it was forced, manic.

Wow, thought Ste, a spectacular lie and an even greater insult in one sentence. Brendan was on a roll today. He almost hated him when he was like that.

There was an awkward silence. Cheryl looked like Brendan had punched her in the face. Her mother looked disappointed. Their Dad broke the silence with a derisive laugh.

"So, we going to explore this town or what?" Mr Brady heaved himself up, but kept his eyes on Brendan. Ste noticed Brendan was carefully not looking at Ste, and Ste knew instinctively that it wasn't entirely because of the insult.

"Yeah, come on then," Brendan's false smile stayed firmly in place. "Ladies first," and he indicated for the women to lead on. They went first, and Mr Brady followed. Brendan chanced a glance back at Ste.

Ste thought that there had better be an apology before the kids went to bed tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: So, it seems Brendan is going to come out of prison a nutter. This will make my story completely AU even sooner than I thought. So, I intend to speed up the chapters. This may or may not happen. You have been warned.**

Brendan remembered this feeling. It was like when he was a teenager being dragged to family dos. Awkward, verging on painful.

Cheryl, in contrast, was completely in her element.

It had taken nearly no time to show the visitors around the village, after all there was very little of it, and had then gone to the Dog for some typical pub food. Cheryl and her ma had wittered away in hushed tones about the Costellos and the gossip, even though it was all quite painful to Brendan still.

His Dad had not been part of the conversation, except when the women needed him to be. Brendan had realised how similarly they were behaving. They both kept an eye out for other people, almost like cavemen searching for threats. Both kept a wary eye on the other too, both too alpha for the other's comfort.

The meal had gone on quite late, with lots of shrill laughter and gentle teasing from the girls, and just enough input from the blokes to keep them happy. The next morning Brendan had woken to the smell of fried food; breakfast cooked by his father with enthusiasm. It had tasted glorious, and while they were tucking in, some paper appeared on the table.

"What's that there?" asked Cheryl's ma. Brendan picked it up and scanned through.

"Someone's booked two days at a spa under the name Brady. Ha, I've been hoping for a good facial," Brendan announced.

"A little treat for you girls," his father cut in, ignoring the joke, "with all you do for us, it's the least I could do."

"Dad, that's great, thank you so much!" Cheryl threw her arms around her father's neck.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're so good to us!" exclaimed her Ma, mirroring her daughter. Brendan smiled, feeling a whole new sense of dread.

"You're off tomorrow," his dad announced, "some pampering and relaxation, and a chance for me to get a word in edgeways"

The women laughed.

"And I thought it was time for me to get to know my song again." He sat forward, making eye contact, "It's been too long son. I want us to be part of each other's lives again. It's time for us to talk."

Cheryl smiled and looked at Brendan hopefully. Brendan felt all the anxiety twist in his stomach.

"Sounds good, Dad," he lied. "Sis, why don't you and me do the sorting here, and let these two get sorted for whatever it is we'll be doing today?" He picked up some plates and marched into the kitchen area, hoping the parents would go upstairs, or anywhere they couldn't hear. No such luck.

"It's alright, Brendan" Cheryl's ma offered, "We'll sort that, you lads should be thinking of what to do. Our treat's tomorrow, do something you want today."

"Right… well, I've got some business later," announced Brendan, "Tried to get out of it but… you know how it is."

"What's that, Brendan?" Cheryl asked clumsily. "The club'll be fine without you for a couple of days!"

"Ha ha!" the laugh was short and false, "you'd forget your head if it wasn't screwed on, sis! You remember, I told you about that business I had to do?" He looked her dead in the eye, head on one side, "You remember, don't'cha?"

Cheryl hesitated for slightly too long before she laughed. "Oh, that!" she said, "I can be terribly slow sometimes, you remember that time we went to Grandma's and when we got there we realised my pyjamas were still on my bed at home?"

Her Ma had the same cackle, "you had to borrow one of your Grandma's nightgowns. Nearly broke your neck tripping over it in the night." The two women cackled again, and Brendan's laugh joined the chorus. He glanced at his Dad. His eyes were on Brendan, unreadable, but not friendly.

They started the day in Chester, doing some shopping, then spent the rest of the day being companionable, doing the touristy thing. Brendan couldn't wait to be out from his father's steely looks, the feeling that he was being x-rayed.

…

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Amy's voice was whiney, and Ste rolled his eyes.

"Yes!" he answer, "'course! I've looked after 'em loads of times."

"Yeah, but not at the same time as dealing with Brendan!" she countered, and she had a point.

"It'll be fine," he insisted, "now get lost and have a good time, yeah?"

Amy looked unconvinced, but there was a knock at the door which stopped her arguing again. She looked carefully at Ste's face and must have seen a little of his excitement there.

"So, is that my date or yours?" she joked, and went to let them in.

Ste checked the kids were still happily playing in Leah's room, and listened carefully.

"The lovely Amy" greeted Brendan's voice from the doorway, "A pleasure, as always."

"Brendan," Amy's voice was not completely welcoming.

"I was hoping I could come in," he said. "Stephen is expecting me." He laughed.

"Just a moment!" said Amy, in her clearest, firmest voice, and Ste felt himself go red, aware Amy was going to try to stand up for him. "If you hurt him again, I will call the police, and I won't hesitate. Do you understand?"

Ste expected a laugh or a threat. It could have been either, and if it was the latter, that would be it; he'd have to throw Brendan out of his life for good.

It was probably a good test.

"I do Amy, I do, and I won't." Brendan's voice was quiet, sincere. "I admire you, how much you care about him." There was a pause. "Can you believe that I do to?"

There was another pause. Amy must be considering what she said. Ste could imagine the thoughts flying through her head.

"Show me," she said, "show me, and then I'll answer that."

"I'll do my best," came the answer, this time with a more confident, Brendanny edge, then Brendan strolled into the living area as if he owned it.

"Stephen," he greeted. He was dressed casually in jeans and a smart jumper. He must have taken Amy at her word because his feet didn't stop their journey until he was less than a foot from Ste. His hand curled around the back of Ste's neck and he brought their lips together.

Ste wasn't sure how long it took him to remember he needed to breathe. It may even have only occurred to him because of the polite cough from the doorway. They broke apart to see a pink cheeked Amy and Michaela McQueen, her eyes like saucers and her mouth gaping.

"Bloody hell, do you get to watch that every day?" the visitor exclaimed.

Amy's cheeks went slightly pinker, "Well…" she started, but needed to cough before she could carry on, "we're off then… you've got my number if you need me. The kid's teas are in…"

"I know," interrupted Ste, "I live here too remember."

Amy looked flustered, "'Course… but… you know… erm…"

"Have a good night, Amy," said Brendan, kindly, "Michaela." He nodded.

"Cheers, Bren," said Michaela, and Ste wondered whether Brendan would comment on this over familiarity from someone he'd barely met. "Bye Ste," she continued, and grabbed Amy's hand, pulling her out of the flat before she could say any more.

Ste and Brendan laughed, and looked at each other. That almost never happened.

The moment was interrupted by a five year old girl. She wanted someone to play Disney Princesses with her. Ste grinned.

"Well, I've got to get your tea ready, but Brendan will, won't you Bren?"

Brendan looked somewhere between bemused and furious, but allowed his hand to be snatched and himself to be led into the pinkest bedroom he'd probably ever seen. Ste felt Lucas hovering around his own legs. "You going to help them out little man?" he asked. Lucas looked nervous, but after a warm grin from his Dad, toddled after his sister.

…

Brendan was certain Ste had only mentioned bedtime when he'd sold him this. Now he was wearing a crown. A pink one.

Brendan hadn't had any daughters, and had never been expected to wear crowns. He felt much more confident with shooting and sports. Leah was casting a spell on a teddy bear, so Brendan checked how Lucas was getting on. The toddler seemed to be taking it all in his stride, though in many ways he had it much worse than Brendan; Leah had insisted he put on a princess outfit. It was slightly too long for him, and he'd fallen over a couple of times already, but so far the toddler hadn't complained once.

Surely he'd been here hours now! How long was Stephen going to take on their tea?

Leah brandished the teddy bear.

"Princess Mia is awake! Now let's all welcome her with curtsies."

Brendan wondered if shagging Ste was really worth this.

Incredibly, it probably was.

"Er, Princess Leah, it's time for tea now," announced Stephen. He was stood in the doorway, and Brendan had a sneaky suspicion he'd been there a while. "Will you take your brother to the table?"

"Ok Daddy," Leah took Lucas's hand, and didn't help him out of the dress before pulling him out of the spectacularly pink bedroom.

Stephen stood in the doorway, a grin stuck on his face. Brendan cleared his throat and stood up, needing to feel the height advantage for some semblance of masculinity to be restored.

"This goes no further, right?" He said.

Stephen hummed a sound of agreement, clearly struggling not to laugh out loud.

"You owe me big for this," Brendan continued, "Later…"

Stephen reached up, and Brendan expected him to stroke his face. He didn't. His hand came back down holding the crown.

"Yes, your highness," he laughed.

Brendan growled, but could feel the edges of his own mouth twitching happily. He strolled past Stephen into the kitchen, and helped Lucas into his chair. He could feel Stephen watching him. It felt nice.


	8. Chapter 8

Ste's grin would not leave his face. The sight of Brendan Brady sitting on the floor wearing a pink crown had made his day, maybe even his life. He couldn't remember a time when he was happier.

Brendan even read to the kids before putting them to bed. Ste watched him first with Lucas and then with Leah. When he was finished, he paced confidently back into the living room, shut the door to the kid's bedrooms quietly. Then he trapped Ste against a wall, one hand on either side of his head, their bodies pressed firmly together. Ste bit his lip.

"Stephen," said Brendan in that lovely low voice that went straight to his groin, "I don't seem to recall any mention of princesses when ye suggested this."

Ste grinned, mischievously, "Er, skinny kid with the speed of a turtle?"

Brendan stroked Ste's hair off his face. "It was speed of a tortoise, but good point. Except…" he pushed a muscled thing between Ste's legs, "there's some grown up fun we've been missing out on."

"I'd best get on that, then, hadn't I?" Ste agreed, and stretched his neck to kiss Brendan, but Brendan held his own face out of reach. "What?" Ste whined.

Brendan smirked. Ste grinned and tried to wrap his hands round the back of his lovers head to pull him down to the kiss, but Brendan caught both Ste's wrists and pushed them against the wall.

"A crown, Stephen," he growled, "a pink one! You owe me!" He put his mouth right next to Ste's ear, and whispered "big!"

Ste would have laughed if he hadn't been so turned on.

…..

Brendan felt perfect.

The kids had stayed asleep long (and deeply) enough for him and Stephen to get up to some passionate stuff. More than once. Now they lay, Stephen's head resting comfortably on his shoulder, one arm around his waist and one leg tangled over his, as if they were designed to lie together.

He didn't want to talk. Talking now could only be about his father. It would lead to arguments, to recriminations, to more misunderstandings. Could he really explain his father to Stephen tonight?

These thoughts alone were breaking the spell of contentment. He pulled Stephen closer, trying to hold on to the moment that little bit longer. He wondered what lengths he would go to to keep Stephen if he lost him again. Real kidnap?

He decided not to worry about that.

Not with Stephen so warm and pliant against him.

He brought a hand up Stephen's body and grinned when the lad opened his eyes groggily.

"Ready for round three?" he growled.

Stephen laughed, and Brendan made a mental note to make that happen more often. "You're insatiable tonight."

Brendan's hand got to the area he knew Stephen wanted it. "Fancy words, tonight," he growled.

Ste smiled, but it wasn't a dirty minded smile, and Brendan realised even sex was an insufficient distraction after two hours of hot, energetic activities.

"How long can you stay?" the lad asked. Brendan decided not to give up, and started teasing Stephen with hands and lips. "All night if I want to," he said seductively. Chez is looking after them tonight so…"

"Right." Stephen's face (and other parts) drooped a little. Brendan sighed.

"I didn't think you were keen on them seeing us like this Stephen," he said, hands and lips still working, but he knew it was already pointless.

"Brendan!" Stephen scolded. He didn't carry on though, and Brendan's libido took that as a sign that it was OK to continue. He'd pretty much rearranged them so he was mostly on top of Stephen before the younger man spoke again. "You know it's all in your head, don't ya?"

Brendan was understandably miffed at that. "What're ye wittering on about now, Stephen?"

"You're Dad, he knows your gay"

Brendan sighed, and flopped back. He felt the loss of contact keenly, and from Stephen's disappointed sound, he guess the boy did to, but he carried on nevertheless.

"He said to me that he wasn't interested in my arse like you were."

Brendan hesitated before saying, "That's not exactly what he said, was it?"

Stephen folded his arms sulkily. This didn't have the effect he intended as he was lying naked on his back. "It's what he meant."

"It wasn't Stephen" Brendan said quietly.

Stephen rolled onto his side to see Brendan more fully. "What did he mean then?" he demanded, in one of his over developed sulky voices.

"Well, I don't know, I didn't hear him, did I?"

Stephen's voice got higher in pitch, "Then how do you know he didn't mean that?"

"Ugh, Stephen, will you just…" Brendan paused, trying to let some of his frustration dissipate before continuing. "Will you just accept that I know him?"

"Well, course but…"

"And there's things that you don't know!"

"Then tell m…"

"Stephen! Will you just… stay away from him?" He saw Stephen open his mouth wider, he was going to get very whiney. "And not for the reason you think! Just…" he caressed Stephen's face, "just don't let him get you alone, yeah?"

Stephen's face went from annoyed to bemused. "Why?" he asked.

"Just… people aren't always as they seem, OK? Please, Stephen, just promise me."

There must have been something in his face, because he saw Stephen relenting. "Thank you," he said and kissed his forehead.

"Alright," Stephen's voice was childish and whiney again, "but you said that about Pete, and he was a really nice fella."

Brendan thought for a moment, "Yeah," he said, "you're right. But this time… please…"

"I said alright," Ste moaned. "But you know he talked to me about you before Cheryl turned up."

Brendan's curiosity peaked. "What did he say?"

"That he wished you would forgive him for leaving your Mum. And that he regrets all the mistakes he made. He seemed really nice, like he wants to make it up to you."

"Huh, was that before or after he threw you against the bar and put his hand round your neck?"

Ste snorted, "Isn't there a phrase about stones and glass houses? Or maybe pots and kettles?"

Brendan felt shame. He didn't really think of the beatings like that, they were to protect them both in the long run, stop dangerous people getting too close, interfering, using it against them, hurting them. They were nothing like what his Dad did.

Stephen continued. "He reminds me of you a lot, really."

"He's not!" Brendan insisted, "He's nothing like me!" But even as he said it, he didn't quite believe it.

Silence hung between them, thick in the air. Eventually they both fell asleep.

…..

Brendan was woken by a small but firm hand on his ribs. It didn't bother him as much as the knee on his belly.

Leah Barns sat on his chest.

"Why are you in Daddy's bed?" she asked, "Are you his boyfriend now?"

To save his internal organs, he picked her up and deposited her onto Stephen's sleeping form. The lad didn't stay asleep long.

"Yeah, I guess," said Brendan, "that OK for you?"

Leah seemed to consider the question, but let Stephen rearrange her to protect his own internal organs. "OK," she said, "but don't go to any palaces will you?"

Brendan checked Stephen's face, hoping for a clue for what that was about. He didn't get one. " What do you mean sweetheart? Why should I go to any palaces?" He laughed a little, "What if I bought you all a palace and we all lived there?"

"Hm," said the little girl, "That'd be OK, but Daddy got really sad when Noah went to live in a palace, so don't go by yourself!"

"Newcastle, babe," Stephen yawned. "Noah, went to live in Newcastle. And that's a city, not a palace."

"Oh," she said "well, don't go there either!"

Brendan was surprised that the stab of jealousy that Noah's name always used to bring up didn't occur. He guessed it was because he realised Noah was never really a threat to him and Stephen. They were too far gone. "I've got no intention to, sweetheart" he said.

Leah nodded. Stephen looked up at her, "You want some breakfast, babe?" The little girl nodded again, "You're brother up yet?"

"No, he's a lazy bones!" she giggled.

"Well, go wake him up, and we'll get you both some breakfast." Leah nodded again, and climbed off the bed, Stephen's quiet grunts suggesting that she'd used as much care getting down as she had getting up.

Stephen smiled at Brendan, then suddenly shouted "Don't climb on Lucas!"

"OK," his daughter replied.

Stephen smiled again, "Coco pops or Frosties?"

Brendan pretended to look disgusted. "Jesus, Stephen, that all you got in?"

"Erm, what if it is?" Stephen grinned.

"Well, I'll just have to eat you then, won't I?" He ran his tongue across his lips, before licking a path down his lover's torso,

"Bren!" squealed Stephen, "the kids might walk in!"

"You should have thought of that before you subjected me to crowns and coco pops!" Brendan growled, and continued his path.

"All right, all right! I've got some eggs, I'll make you egg on toast!"

Brendan lifted his head and grinned. "That's better," he announced, and kissed him on the lips.

A cry of a toddler interrupted them. Stephen lurched back. "Oh God, she's pushed him out of bed again!"

He only just remembered to grab his dressing gown before leaving the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Thanks everyone who's sticking with this story. I'm really enjoying writing it. After this chapter, I think I will need to push this up to an M rating. You have been warned. **

**Pa Brady is really not as you expect him to be. I hope. I have purposefully tried to see him in a completely new way. You have been warned on that too!**

Ste decided that Brendan had wound the kids up on purpose.

The cereal had already been sugary, but Ste thought he saw Brendan sprinkle in a bit more. He also had a sneaky suspicion that Brendan had found the secret stash of sweets in the top cupboard while he was cooking the eggs. Or maybe it wasn't a suspicion when you had the absolute proof of discarded wrappers on the floor.

Then he had pretended to be a slime monster and chased them around the flat.

There had been a lot of screaming.

Once Leah was jumping on the sofas, demanding they bake a cake, and Lucas was bawling from tripping over his own toy cars, Brendan had thrown on his coat, pulled Ste to the doorway, snogged him and made a speedy getaway.

Getting them both ready for school and nursery had been a nightmare. He'd managed to get them both dressed with promises of 'after nursery' and reassurances of 'my big, grown up boy." They were almost out of the door when there was a knock.

The second he opened it, Leah disappeared through it.

"Leah!" he called. Lucas tried to scramble past his legs too, but Ste scooped him up. "I don't think so little man!" he said.

"Sorry, love, bad time?" asked Cheryl.

"Sorry, Chez," he said, then shouted "Leah, get back here"

"O, I'm sorry love, but I can't come back later," she tottered after Leah in her heals, picked her up and brought her back, talking all the time. "Our Dad's got us tickets for a Spa visit, isn't that grand? Well, anyway, I know Brendan's given you time off and everything, but without me and what with Warren gone, and Miles off sick and that new girl hasn't got a clue you know, I think she's not all there, and well…" she hesitated, "you know what Brendan's like, he'll never admit he needs help…"

"Chez, I'm running late getting Leah to school, can you skip to the point?" Ste felt bad instantly at how grumpy he sounded.

"Well, can you do the shifts you were down to do anyway?"

"Cheryl! I didn't ask for time off, Brendan decided I should… I mean, he thought…" Ste wasn't sure Cheryl would appreciate Brendan's views on their father, but then remembered who it was who asked him to take time off when Declan was around. "He said I shouldn't come in!"

"I know, love, but that was before he knew I wouldn't' be in either, and if one more person's off tonight it'll be a total nightmare, and you know our luck, someone'll pull a sickie, and there's always a family crisis happening for someone, please love." Ste wondered briefly if Cheryl needed to breath, "I mean, he only said a day or so ago, I bet you've still got the same childcare stuff as before organised any."

Ste sighed and took Leah's hand, and Cheryl must have known she was nearly there, as she pushed on, "Oh, please, Ste, I'll owe you one!"

"All right! All right! But _you've _got to tell Brendan, 'cos I'm not taking on that. And if I get an angry phone call telling me to stay away, then I will. We've only just started talking again, and I'm not going to push it!

"Oh, Ste, you are a life saver!" She pulled him into a hug. Lucas looked stunned when he emerged from her bosom.

"Yeah, yeah" Ste said, "make sure you tell Brendan!"

"I'll call him from the taxi. Oh, thanks love!"

She kissed him on the cheek then kissed Lucas too, and hurried off for her trip.

Feeling harassed and annoyed, Ste went about getting the kids to where they needed to be.

* * *

><p>Both bars were 6 people deep.<p>

Brendan had been called to the doors five times in the last hour. The DJ was having problems with the sound system. A number of the lady's toilets were out of order. Two members of staff had rung in sick.

Brendan was wondering if he could make up reasons to bar half the people here.

His father had planted himself of one of the sofas, and was currently chatting up a couple of women. Brendan thought they were students, but couldn't be certain on that one. It was a relief to spend some time without the inquisition, but to see him trying it on with these girls less than half his age while he wife, a kind, funny, wonderful woman was just ten miles away with his daughter would never fail to get to him, particularly as Brendan knew the old man was only doing it for the kudos of being seen to be doing it. He remembered how he'd felt about Noah, every time he thought of him doing those things to Stephen. He wouldn't wish that on anyone.

But of course, it was no different than what he had done to Eileen.

He grumpily served a punter, furious that he, Brendan Brady, owner, had been reduced to barman.

It took him a moment to notice the mousy head pushing through the crowd and coming behind the bar.

"Sorry I'm late Bren, Amy got stuck in Manchester because of the trains."

Brendan forgot about all the punters, however loudly they were shouting.

"What are you doing?"

Stephen looked surprised by the question.

"What…"

"Office! Now!"

They abandoned the crowds, the bar, and Brendan pushed his way to the office. Stephen took slightly longer to get there.

Brendan shut the door.

"I told ye to stay away! What are you doing here?" Brendan felt his fists clench of their own accord.

"Cheryl asked me to work; she said she'd call you!"

"Well she didn't!"

Stephen noticed his fists. "If you hit me, I'm gone."

"Good!"

"I mean I won't sleep with you again, or anything else!"

Brendan growled. "I'm not going to hit you, just go home!"

"Brendan, it's mad out there!"

"We can cope, go home!"

"Brendan, the dance floor's empty 'cause everyone's lining up for a drink."

"Go home, Stephen!"

"Don't be thick, your Dad's gonna get suspicious if you don't leave it now."

Brendan took a moment to think about that. Stephan was right. Annoying boy.

"All right!" Brendan heaved a breath, "look, Chez isn't here, so he's got no reason to behave, so stay out of his way! Do not let yourself be alone with him!"

"Yeah, you said before! Why?"

Frustration pulsed through Brendan. "Because I said so."

"Oh, whatever Bren. If you can't honest with me I don't know why we're bothering." Stephen pushed past him to the door again. "Cheryl doesn't think it's a problem, so maybe you need to think about who you're really hiding us from!"

Stephen threw the door open and stormed out. Brendan gave it a few moments before he followed.

He didn't get far from the office before a hand was on his arm.

"Everything all right, son?"

Canny bastard.

"Yeah, Dad." He said, and knowing what his father wanted to know added, "Stephen was late so I gave him a bollocking. I mean, look at the place!"

"Course," His father laughed, "Good to see you know how to handle your staff."

Brendan glared at him. He hated the way his father could make him feel like a kid trying to hide porn mags. He was a grown up, club-owner, in charge of his own fate. He could tell from the way the old man looked at him, there was nothing left for him to hide. All he could do was stop the people he cared about suffering for it.

"Whatever," he said, and marched back to the bar.

….

Ste could not see what Brendan was so worked up about. It's not like they were snogging in front of Mr Brady. They hadn't even acted the slightest bit like a couple.

Chance would be a fine thing.

He served, he collected glasses, he served some more and flirted lightly. The line started to thin a little, and Brendan managed to get out from behind the bar and start, well, whatever it was he did. Ste'd never been quite sure. Mr Brady ordered a few more drinks, for him and some girls he was chatting to, but didn't cause any trouble. He seemed like a normal middle aged Dad. The more Ste knew about him, the more he thought all Brendan's problems with the man were in his own imagination.

Except for the slightly over developed sense of aggression. But Brendan had that too. And there'd been no repeats. And Ste had touched him in quite an intimate way.

Closing time got nearer and nearer. Mr Brady left a good hour before closing time. Ste noticed some girls seemed to be leaving with him, but decided that must be his imagination.

Eventually closing time arrived. They emptied the club, and sorted. Ste noticed Brendan sneakily letting people leave early until it was just the two of them. He smiled to himself.

Brendan sauntered over to him. Ste managed to get the first word in.

"So, you had me and your Dad in the same room for a whole evening, and nothing blew up."

Brendan snorted. "Yeah, not yet anyway."

"Maybe you should just give him a chance, Brendan."

Brendan sighed. "Maybe, maybe I will, but maybe only if you stay away from him, yeah?"

"Oh, Brendan! I get the message yeah?"

Brendan looked away from him, "Yeah," he mumbled and wondered off.

…..

Ste walked back through the alley again. No reason not to.

Brendan had seemed a bit edgy at the end of the evening. He had kissed Ste goodnight, and then warned him again. Ste hoped he would be able to get used to being kissed goodnight. It was a lot of fun.

The footsteps behind him didn't have the same effect on him this time.

He twisted round to look, but couldn't see anyone.

He carried on walking, then tried to turn suddenly to catch his stalker. It reminded him of games he'd played as a kid.

The third time he turned, he was nearly laughing.

"Bren, I said I would see you tomorrow."

He was answered by silence

"I've got to get home this time, Amy was furious before!"

Nothing.

"Brendan!"

He felt the presence to his left. He peered into the darkness.

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows.

His heart jumped to attention.

It wasn't Brendan.


	10. Chapter 10

"Bloody hell, Mr Brady, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Ste clutched at his chest, theatrically and grinned, "I'm a nervous wreck here!"

Mr Brady laughed, "Made you jump out of your skin, did I?"

Ste laughed too, "Yes, actually. Er, are you alright?"

"Course Stephen," replied Brady, tipping his head to the side.

"Good," said Ste, confused. "What you doing out here, then?"

Mr Brady stepped closer. "Looking for you actually," he said amicably, but seriously, "I was hoping you could help me."

"Right…" Ste stopped to think. He had a pretty good idea what was coming. Should he tell Brendan's father the truth or should he lie? He wanted Brendan to be out, and alright with it, and maybe this was the way to do it. After all, he'd told Cheryl, and that had worked out all right. Eventually.

But it wouldn't be worth anything if it was him who told Mr Brady. Brendan could barely admit he was gay when they were in bed, but if he was going to let all that continue, it had to be Brendan who admitted to everything he was. He decided not to say any more, hoping to avoid the questions.

Mr Brady surveyed him by the light of the streetlamp at the end of the alley. It lit up half the older man's face in that eerie orange glow, while leaving half in the darkness. He stepped forward again, closer to Ste, who could now feel Brady's breath on his face. His eyes were boring into Ste's.

Then Mr Brady kissed him.

The kiss was on the lips, harsh, almost violent, but shallow. Ste lurched backwards before a single thought could process. He was simply shocked.

Mr Brady didn't seem deterred. He took another pace towards Ste, and tried again. Ste held him back this time, with his hands on the older man's shoulders. "What are you doing?" he demanded. But Brady didn't answer. He just knocked Ste's hands away, and pushed Ste the small distance to the wall, held him by the shoulders and kissed him again. Ste tried to push him away without hurting him; after all, he had to be in his 50s at least to be Brendan's father. And of course, he was Brendan's father. "Mr Brady!" he managed.

"What?" cooed Mr Brady, in a low, quiet voice, "isn't this what you do for my son?" He moved his mouth to Ste's neck; lips and tongue, and a touché of teeth.

"Stop, please, stop!" It wasn't begging, Ste was just desperate for this to stop before one of them resorted to violence. He was scared it might be him, and there'd be no way back from that. He pushed against Brady's shoulders again.

"Stephen!" Brady groaned, moving his head back so he could look Ste in the face, "Why are you fighting this? Does Brendan let you behave like this? Of course not! He'd have given you a good slap by now, wouldn't he? I don't want to resort to that!"

"No!" Ste exclaimed, not certain if it was to the question or about the situation. There were elements of truth in everything the older man just said, but it was such a twisted distortion that Ste felt revolted by it.

Brady tilted his head, smirking, "What, you're suggesting my son doesn't make use of your pert little arse, or that wicked mouth of yours?"

Ste pushed, still trying not to hurt the man, but his resolve on that crumbling. Brady just laughed. "You're so weak, Stephen."

He pressed his body against Ste's. Ste could feel his hard on digging into his hip.

Ste couldn't handle any more. He let out the energy he'd been holding back and punched the man on the face.

Brady lurched back, freeing Ste. Ste didn't run straight away; he was too shocked at what had just happened. Brady held his face, rubbing gently. He was laughing.

"What were you thinking?" Ste asked, his own voice breathy and breaking.

"What do you think? I fancied a shag, thought you were the place to go." Brady didn't look anywhere near as guilty or ashamed as Ste thought he should. He was furious at what Brady was suggesting.

"Well, you were wrong! Yes, I do sleep with Brendan, but that's because I love him. And you know what? He's in love with me, too. So find your shags somewhere else. But check they want to first, yeah?"

He turned on his heels and stormed from the alley.

If he hadn't been so angry, he might have thought more about Brady's quiet response.

"I thought so."

…

When Brendan arrived home, he tried to be quiet, assuming his father was asleep somewhere. He left most of the lights off for the same reason.

The place felt wrong without Cheryl, like its heart had been stolen and all that was left was a cold, broken shell. Lonely and sad. Like his life had been before Cheryl and Stephen.

He smiled again.

Then shook himself for being so silly, and poured himself a night cap.

The door opened forcefully and suddenly a few moments later. His father stormed in and slammed it. Brendan felt a flutter of annoyance; his father was doing it again, gambling with his own happiness, along with that of his family.

"You left the club an hour ago," he mumbled accusingly.

"What, you the only one allowed secrets, Brendan?" The older man's voice was heavy, angry.

Brendan harrumphed. He knew anything he said more would be hypocritical.

With a theatrical flourish, his father switched on the main light.

And Brendan saw the redness – the beginnings of a black eye. "What happened to your face?" he asked, appalled.

His Dad looked straight at him, making the most of this moment, enunciating every word. "Your wee boyfriend punched me," came the unbelievable reply.

"What?" Brendan couldn't process a word of what had just been said.

"That wee lad," His father revelled in the information, "the one you've been working so hard at hiding from me. You know, nice arse, might be fun on a weekend when the wife's away. Now, why would he think he could get away with hitting your father, do you think?"

Brendan's mouth seemed sealed shut, his lips forced together. Every muscle in his body was tense. This was it, the moment he was dreading. His father carried on.

"You know the rules of this, Brendan. And they're for your own good, and you know that too." The older man clutched his son's face in both of his hands. "You left your wife. I get that, I did the same. Maybe you might even forgive me for that now. But you are not a man unless you have a wife and a family." He let go of Brendan's face unkindly, and pushed him away.

"I get the Stephen thing" he continued, "you know what I want to do to him, but he is distracting you. Cheryl says her friend Lindsey's been staying here. She's pretty, she's a nurse, she's kind, polite, wouldn't say boo to a goose. Why's she not on the list of possible Mrs Bradys? And this village is full of beautiful young women. You get yourself one of them, and you do it soon, before they all find out what a pathetic waste of space you are. Keep Stephen if you want, but get him to behave himself, or he has to go. You know it as well as I do."

Brendan wasn't sure he could speak. Everything was falling down around him, and he didn't know if he could save the things he cared about.

"Why…" Brendan needed to cough before he could continue, "why did Stephen hit you?"

"Because he's not under your control!" Brady said nastily. "Does Cheryl know about him?"

"Yeah" Brendan breathed.

"And she hasn't thrown you out?"

"No. We didn't talk for a while but that was because of Malachy."

"Well, you were lucky son. When my Ma found out about Paddy McBride, she locked me in the cellar for three days then sent me to the priest. Between the two of them, I learnt my lesson. Do what you like behind closed doors, but don't get caught."

Brendan put down his drink and covered his face with his hands. His father didn't stop there. He invaded Brendan's space again.

"You know what she's thinking, though, don't ye?" he whispered in an ugly voice.

"Who?" His own voice sounded quiet and broken to himself.

"Cheryl," he snapped, "what she thinks about you now? No?" he stepped right in front of Brendan, put his face up close. "She thinks you're a disgusting, pathetic little queer. A pansy. A shit stabber. I bet she can't even look at you without wanting to be sick. You're a stupid little poof. You didn't tell her anything about me did ye?"

"No" Brendan mumbled.

"Good. Destroying her big brother is one thing; I won't have you destroy her father for her too." Brady walked away again, and leant on the stairs. "So, go sort out that little rent boy of yours, give him a good smack and talking to, then we can move on. You've lost Cheryl, but we can salvage Eileen and the kids. They don't have to know anything. We can salvage this."

Brendan's mind was reeling. Everything his father had said he had expected from Cheryl- disgust, hatred, for her to want nothing to do with him. But she'd never even been angry, except about the lies. 'You're gay, it's no big deal.' He remembered her saying that.

"He's not a rent boy." He said aloud.

"What?" his father growled.

"Stephen. He's not a rent boy. He's not something filthy on the side he's…"

"What are you wittering on about now?"

Interrupting. It was an intimidation tactic Brendan used himself. It didn't work on him. "He's not someone to be ashamed of. I'm not ashamed of him. I love him." He said it all quietly, because he expected an explosion in response. A fight. A big one.

His Dad's voice stayed calm, quiet, calculating, "Yeah," he said, "he said as much."

Then he punched Brendan.

"You are not a queer! No son of mine is going to wonder around like some love sick girl over some boy! Grow up and be a man!"

Brendan touched his face. He'd barely felt the punch. He'd had much worse in prison.

"I am a man, Dad," he said quietly.

"No you're not!" his father shouted, poison lacing his words, "you're a weak, pathetic little shite, and we should have got rid of you before you were born. I wanted to you know. Never wanted to marry your mother, told her to get rid, but she wouldn't have it. You think you're in love? Real men don't fall in love!" He raised his fist again, but Brendan was ready this time. He knocked the fist aside, and pushed the older man over onto the sofa. He grasped him by the collar.

"If I'm not a man, then how come I'm so much stronger than you, eh?"

"Get off me, you little shite!" the old man shouted, struggling.

"No," Brendan growled. "You don't get to tell me what to do any more. The tables turned when you got old, and I grew up. You are not in charge here now."

His Dad stopped struggling, and just glared at Brendan. Brendan relaxed his grip and let go, but kept an eye on the old man. The Bradys were infamous for their tricky, sneaky fighting.

"I'm still your father," he spat.

Brendan shrugged. "Yeah, a shit one." He took another drink. "I'm not going to breathe a word to Cheryl, but when they come back, you leave. Maggie can come back whenever she wants, but you; you don't come back here. Not ever. You stay away from my kids, you stay away from Eileen and you stay away from here. Do you understand?"

The two men glared at each other, hatred carved into every muscle of their bodies.

Brady broke the silence.

"You haven't won you know," he whispered, "I can still get you where it hurts." His back straightened as he talked, as though clarity was dawning on him, "It's my duty as your father to stop you destroying yourself and this family, to protect my wife and daughter. You should do as I ask now, son, or I shall know how to act."

Brendan snorted. "Yeah, yeah. You know where your room is. I'd tell you to sleep well but… you know."

He smirked, turned and stalked to his own room.


	11. Chapter 11

**A.N; Bit of a short chapter, but hope you enjoy.**

**Well, enjoy is the wrong word.**

"Ste, it's gone ten! Why aren't you up?"

Amy's voice echoed through his head. He didn't want to get up. Brendan was going to be furious with him. And Cheryl when she got back.

Maybe he should warn Amy if he was about to get arrested for assault, or beaten up, which was probably more likely. She might not even be angry at Brendan for it.

Bloody hell, a very angry Irishman could arrive at the door any second.

"I've dropped Leah off at school," she almost sang, "but Lucas has gone back to bed, I don't think he's very well. Will you be alright to keep an eye on him? I'm supposed to be meeting Michaela in a few minutes for coffee. I'll be back before your shift, I promise."

"Yeah, all right." Ste croaked from under the covers. If Lucas was in bed, why should he get up?

"Ah, thanks Ste! What would I do without you? But get up now, there's someone here to see you."

Ste groaned, "All right, all right, I'm up." He threw the covers off himself and moaned "Who is it?"

"Morning Stephen," greeted a confident Irish drawl. And Ste took a moment to realise that yes, the middle aged man he dreaded most in the world was standing in the doorway to his bedroom.

"Er, you know Mr Brady, don't you Ste?" Amy said hesitantly, looking a little shocked that their visitor had followed her to Ste's bedroom. "He was about to knock when I got back. He's Cheryl's Dad."

"Yeah, Stephen knows me. We met the other night, didn't we Stephen?" The Irishman's stance was casual, confident. Ste guessed he'd been a perfect gentleman to Amy right up until this moment.

"Yeah," mumbled Ste. He felt guilt course through him as he saw his eye, and prayed the man wasn't here just to out him to Amy as a violent yob.

"Right," chimed Amy, clearly feeling the strange tension and trying to dispel it. "Why don't I make you a nice cup of tea while Ste gets dressed?" Ste could have kissed her for her quick thinking of a polite way to get Mr Brady out of his bedroom.

It didn't work though.

"Oh, don't you worry about me, love," Mr Brady assured, cheerfully, "You get off to see your friend, I'll put the kettle on for us blokes."

All three stood awkwardly for a few more moments, then Amy said hesitantly, "Oh.. OK… if you're sure…"

She looked pointedly at Ste, trying to check it was OK with him for her to leave now, but Brady answered.

"Oh, we're fine, love," he said, and put an arm around her waist to guide her out, still making assurances about little chats and boys stuff.

Ste grabbed the moment. He scrambled out of bed, and dived for the wardrobe. He had barely found some clothes when he heard the flat door open and close, signalling that Amy had gone. He pushed his bedroom door too with a foot, hoping that Mr Brady would take that as a hint and wait outside. He dug through the drawers for underwear and socks. He'd just found them and pulled off his pyjama top when the door to his bedroom swung open.

He hesitated, hands on the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. He didn't want to make it worse by being rude too, not after punching a man in his fifties.

Then he thought about the reason he had punched this man, and decided that his anger was acceptable.

"Er, could you wait in the living room please?" he said, indicating his own body, and using his tone of voice to contrast with the politeness of his words.

"No," Brady said simply. He shut the door behind him and leaned back on the frame, watching Ste casually.

Ste folded his arms. "Look, I'm sorry about hitting you, right, but you were not listening to my no."

Brady pushed himself away from the door, his body completely relaxed, and wondered around, seemingly to look at the wardrobe, the posters, the tops of the drawers. He picked things up and examined them leisurely. His movements brought him further into the room. Closer to Ste.

Ste felt himself get angrier; he was being ignored. "Oi, I asked you to wait somewhere else!"

Brady picked up a photo, and glanced at it. It was of Amy and the kids. After a few moments he said, thoughtfully, "I didn't, did I?"

"What?" Ste was making an effort to be as rude as he could now.

He put the photo down carefully, and turned dead on to Ste. "I didn't listen to your no."

Ste took an involuntary step backwards. Behind him was the wall; he'd managed to get himself trapped between Brady, two walls and the bed. This probably should have worried him more than it did. Did the old man want another fight?

"What do you want?" he demanded.

Brady smirked. "That's an interesting question, Stephen," he said, his airy tone belied by the seriousness of his expression, "You see, the moment I saw you, I wanted nothing more than to plough your arse 'til it bled. Of course, I knew you were fucking my son. But I did think he'd share. I usually do, see. But I suppose, he does have a ridiculous tendency to protect little boys like you. Silly really. He'll beat you black and blue, and has, I'm sure. But he does it stop you being found out." Brady paused and seemed to lose focus on Ste, "we both know what happens when you get found out." Brady sniffed, his eyes snapping back to Ste's face, "But things have progressed now." he touched Ste's face gently, "You are causing us a problem. All of us. You are a threat to my family. So I…" he stroked his hand down before withdrawing it, "I have to deal with you."

Ste felt physically sick at what had just been said. His stomach felt like it was turning, trying to escape his body; to avoid dealing with this information. He had enough presence of mind to dodge the first punch, but that was a feint anyway. The second landed with force on his stomach and winded him. As he folded in from the force, Brady pushed a hand over his mouth, gripping him by the head, and whispered, almost snarled, "You may feel like shouting, calling for help, yeah? But I don't think you want your kid to see this, do ye?"

He used the hand on Ste's mouth to slam the younger man's head against the wall, then both to push him flat onto the bed.

Ste's vision swam as he landed face down on the mattress. Part of him gave up at that moment. Maybe this was what life was supposed to be about for him. Something about him made people do this to him, need to hurt him, keep him in his place. Maybe he wasn't supposed to look up from that place; he was meant to stay an unemployed waste of space like Terry. There was always someone around to beat all the light from his life, to bring him back down with a thud. At least it wasn't himself anymore.

Rough hands quickly fumbling at his waistband reminded him though.

This was not just a beating.


	12. Chapter 12

Brendan hadn't bothered checking on his father that morning. If that man had died in the night, it would be a relief. Now he was counting down the hours for Cheryl to return, so that he could be free of him for good. He would try not to bring her into the argument if he could avoid it; there was no reason for her to lose faith in her father. It was a sad thought that maybe that would be unavoidable.

He spotted Amy and Michaela sit at a table in the window of the new coffee shop, gossiping away happily, laughing openly. It was the sort of world he'd never allowed himself to be part of; that easy, social world, with people you could be honest with. He had never really allowed himself to be honest with anyone. Maybe it was time to be honest with Stephen.

Only if the boy wasn't hiding from him in fear of course.

He called him.

The phone rang out then went to voicemail. He looked at it and frowned, then tried again. Maybe Stephen just missed the call.

'Or maybe he was scared what Brendan would do about the black eye. It couldn't be easy to face the guy who'd broken his ribs over a kiss when you thought you'd done something really wrong. One more try.

Voicemail again. "Stephen, man up and answer the phone. I know what happened, and I'm not angry. I get it."

He hung up and tapped the phone impatiently against his thigh. Time for a new tack.

He strode, would-be casually, into the coffee shop and over to the woman that Stephen would always trust.

He would always admire Amy; she was brave and loyal, though of course, not always right, she cared deeply for Stephen, despite all the things they'd gone through. And there was nothing sexual about it. Brendan couldn't remember a time when he hadn't wanted sex with Stephen, just times when he'd resisted better. Now, with everyone he cared about around him, he wasn't sure why he'd ever bothered resisting.

Well, nearly.

"The lovely Amy," he greeted with a wide grin, "what a pleasant surprise."

He'd interrupted the McQueen girl's gossip.

"Oi!" she attacked, "I was talking here!"

Bad start. This was supposed to be friendly, not the start of more enmity,

"My humblest apologies," he said, proud how he'd almost managed to keep the sarcasm from his voice, "Let me get you both a coffee and a cake to make it up to ye."

He looked at Amy, "Amy, could you help to carry?"

Amy did not look convinced. That was annoying; he wasn't even trying to be duplicitous. "What do you want?" she asked.

Even a week ago he would have commented on her tone, or joked about her rudeness, but today he wanted her help and decided honesty was probably the best way to get that.

"I need a chat."

She looked at him for a moment, clearly trying to spot the danger before it happened. He couldn't blame her. It was up to him to prove her wrong now.

"Just about Stephen, OK?"

"What about him?" she asked, not moving, and Brendan realised he was going to have to discuss this in front of the McQueen girl. Well, he had tried to save all their blushes. No one could blame him for what followed.

He pulled a chair over from a neighbouring table, and sat down. Deciding that stealing their coffee might be counterproductive to his reconciliatory plans, his hands felt wrong, empty, so he fidgeted, tapping the table rhythmically.

Both women wore mirroring looks of wariness. Both waited for him to explain himself.

"Stephen hasn't answered his phone this morning…" Brendan began.

"Yeah, well, he's busy. Lucas isn't well and…" Amy interrupted, her expression unforgiving, but he interrupted her back.

"Yeah, course, it's probably just that, but…" he glanced at the strangely quiet McQueen girl, wondering vaguely if she was still distracted by the thought of him kissing Stephen. It made him smirk a little, before chiding himself for such bad timing, "but I think he might be avoiding me."

Amy raised her eyebrows, "Why would he be doing that?" Then she controlled her facial features, and said "Well, we can only hope…"

"Ha, funny!" said Brendan, "No, I know what you're thinking, but it's not that."

Amy made a quiet, disbelieving noise in her throat.

"I swear to you Amy," he insisted, "it's not that."

"What then?" She urged.

"He…" he glanced at the McQueen girl again, vaguely recalling that she used to be a journalist. Maybe they shouldn't have this conversation here. Amy didn't look keen to move though, so he settled for speaking less specifically. "He did… something, last night, and I think he's scared to face me, because of … well… you know, but can you tell him…"

He trailed off, but Amy chirped in anyway, taking advantage of his hesitancy "What did he do? Out you to someone?"

Brendan laughed, "Only incidentally," he said, "but I thought I was doing a pretty decent job of that myself recently, wouldn't you agree Michaela?"

Michaela seemed to snap out of her reverie, "Oh yeah!" she agreed, fervently, "that's how you should come out to everyone, and then everybody's happy."

"See?" he grinned back at Amy, and then let himself be serious, "but this is something slightly bigger, at least, he'll see it like that. I need you to tell him I'm not upset, not even a little bit angry, OK? And to call me. And even if I was," he took a deep breath, "I will never… do that to him again, yeah?"

Amy looked at him for a long time, then said, coldly, "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Brendan sighed, "I'm not. I mean it. But will you tell him?"

Amy thought carefully for a moment.

"I'll tell him that you told me to tell him that, OK?" she said.

"Thank you," he breathed, and wondered whether it was normal to hug your boyfriend's ex. Then wondered how people would react if Brendan Brady started hugging anyone.

"What did he do then?" Amy asked.

Brendan thought about it, "That's not for me to say, now, is it?"

Amy didn't give up, "Is it something to do with your Dad, though?"

Brendan looked at her quizzically.

"Did Stephen already tell ye?" he asked.

"No, but there's no need to worry. Your Dad came to see him this morning. They're probably sorting it out as we speak."

The rest of the world seemed to drop away until all Brendan could hear was ringing in his own ears. His stomach seemed to be jumping out of his body while his heart ran a marathon by itself. He lost the feeling in his legs.

"What?" he hissed.

"Er, your Dad, he came to see Ste this morning."

Brendan stood knocking the chair over and making the table shudder, and both girls' coffees spill.

"Oi!" cried the McQueen girl, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at the table to rescue her dress.

"Where are they now?" he growled, urgency and anger filling his voice.

"I'm not going to tell you when you're being like that!" Amy cried. Brendan realised she couldn't see past his anger. She must have thought she was protecting Stephen. How wrong she could be.

"For God's sake, Amy," he shouted. Most of the customers turned to stare at them. Amy looked alarmed. He had to show her he wasn't dangerous. Not to anyone who didn't deserve it anyway. "Amy," he tried, hoping to keep the danger from his voice, without losing the urgency. "I need to… I think Stephen is in danger, I need to be there to stop it. You can come if ye have ta, to see I'm not hurting him, but you need to tell me now; are they at your place?"

Amy's eyes had widened as he talked.

"Yeah," she said breathily.

Brendan didn't wait to see if she would follow. He knocked over furniture and small children to get out of that place as quickly as he could, and he sprinted down the street in the direction of Stephen's flat.


	13. Belfast, the past

**AN: I know you all want to know if Ste's OK, but I thought I'd tease you all mercilessly, but with something you'll hopefully find quite interesting.**

**Please keep reading and reviewing. The reviews (after the huge fear of opening them) have all made me so happy, and encouraged the ridiculous speed of updating.**

**Enjoy**

_Belfast, the past._

Brendan pulled his school tie until it was as loose about his neck as possible. He hated it, and everything it stood for; making him look like one of the herd. He was Brendan Brady, future entrepreneur. £500 in one week. Richard Branson, eat your heart out. And he wasn't even sixteen yet.

"So, you're not going to be a pilot anymore?" his seven year old sister Cheryl had asked.

"Course I am!" he had replied, "but you gotta have money first. That's how it works out there sis; you got the money, you can do anything!"

Ciggies had been easy. He knew what time the deliveries came for most of the shops around his home, and he was clever and light on his feet. He'd only been spotted twice since he was eleven, and they never caught him. But the school kept sending letters home. It was always 'Another student has informed us that…' or 'A member of staff has reason to suspect…' but never any real proof. But it was getting on his nerves. The couple of quid he made per smoke was not worth the hassle, or the near misses, and definitely not his father's fists. He needed something bigger, to bring in the better money.

So that's how he came to be here, now, checking out the scruffy looking bloke outside the Knight's Sword, a pub of ill repute. Pot was going to be trickier. He couldn't nick that. No one left it lying around, even for a second.

"Brian?" he said.

The bloke had looked at him like he'd just wondered over in a straightjacket surrounded by nurses and guards. He was younger than Brendan had expected.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked.

Brendan smiled, "I'm the guy who's going to make you rich."

….

Brian was one of _them._ The others. A protestant. A unionist. He came from that part of town anyway, where Brendan was told not to go. Brendan had never really got all that. Hadn't bothered to care, really, except for being a bit shocked when his father had left peaceful Dublin for this, and then expected him to live here too. Giving yourself twice as long as you should need to get anywhere wound him up, despite all the talk of peace.

He knew what he could offer Brian though. Brian was 18, with a straggly beard, and an inclination to dress like Kurt Cobain. He was always being stopped by police and searched. Not that he'd ever carry a weapon or cause that sort of trouble, but that sort of attention could really damage a drug-dealers ability to operate. That didn't change the fact that the market was as strong here as anywhere else in Europe. They needed a source. Brian knew people who could provide.

Brendan was almost never searched. The outside world still saw him as a kid, and however annoying that was in many normal situations, in his uniform he was rarely bothered by anyone. When he was, he could flatter men and women into most things.

Together, they found their way around the major issues and built a solid business. They developed a connection. It lasted months, and made them both a packet. Then one day, Brendan did get searched. They were incredibly lucky he hadn't had anything on him at the time. They needed a new plan.

So they went to Brendan's to figure it out.

"Hey, Maggie," Brendan called to his step mother as he got in, "Alright Chez? Girls, this is Brian, he's doing teacher training at my school, and wants to check out a typical student home life in Belfast. That all right?"

Maggie never questioned him much. She was worried about being the 'evil step-mother' so even if she had been suspicious, she only said "Nice to meet you Brian, you boys want anything to drink?"

So they discussed drug deals over hot chocolate and rich tea biscuits.

Brendan had to explain what had happened, but he knew how to stop himself being left out. He knew who was never every checked anywhere.

"There's this girl at school who fancies me, Eileen, pretty, big eyes. I'll take her on a date, and get the stuff into her handbag. They never check."

Part of him worried that Brian would shout at him, that it was too dangerous for her. He didn't.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, "you, Brendan Brady, are a genius!"

Brendan sighed, but mostly felt an unfamiliarly warm feeling in his stomach, and a grin overtaking his face. Their faces got closer.

Brendan's Dad walked in. Without knocking. Both their heads snapped to him. His fixed on Brian, appraisingly.

Brendan was flustered from the praise and what he'd expected to happen. He stumbled over the introduction, the prepared excuse.

His Dad was an expert on lying.

"Brian, is it? Nice to meet you Brian. I'd like to have a little chat, if that's OK. Why don't you join me in the study? This way." His words were polite, his voice assertive, in control.

The study was a pretentious name for the spare bedroom. Brendan and Cheryl weren't allowed in there, and Brendan hadn't bothered checking if he was allowed to listen to this chat. He stormed downstairs, ready to complain about why Cheryl was allowed people over when he wasn't, knowing Maggie would do most things to keep the peace, to avoid being accused of favouritism, however understandable it was. After all, his Dad had no real proof of wrong doing.

He searched the house. No one was about – Cheryl and her Ma must have gone out somewhere. Maybe to that awful Irish dancing they both seemed to like. He switched on the telly and flicked through, restlessly, all the time pumping himself up for the fight he wanted, expected, with his father.

It didn't take him long to decide that attack was the best for of defence. He stormed into the study.

After the initial shock of seeing his father balls deep in a man half his age, he realised that this was something he'd always known. No one actually needed that many appliances fixed that often, and they definitely didn't buy their wives trips to the salon every time to make up for it. He remembered the names his Ma had screamed at her husband that night that he'd left them, the same ones that had followed him around school the following weeks, until his Ma had had enough of him too.

Brendan wasn't even angry about it. But his chest ached a little.

He slammed the door to the study, then his own, and then dragged his bed against the door. The image of the two of them haunted him, but mostly the image of Brian. Brian with his arse in the air, folded at the waist, muscles taught as his hands pressed into the wood of the desk. Panting. The beautiful panting; low, desperate, gorgeous. He dreamed about his own cock doing that to Brian, pounding into his arse, coaxing out those sweet noises.

Brian found him the following day, skipping school, sat on a swing in the park. Brendan noticed how slowly and carefully Brian sat.

"Sorry," he said.

"Whatever," Brendan responded, with as little emotion in his voice as he could.

"I didn't want to." Brian whispered.

"Yeah, you were putting up a right good fight there," he replied, sarcasm etching his voice.

Brian moved his head closer. Brendan could feel the heat from his body. "He said he would call the police if I didn't. About the stuff…"

Brendan didn't know if believed that or not. Or even if he wanted to. He stayed silent.

After a few moments pause, Brian tried again, "I still think you're a genius, you know."

It didn't have the same effect as it had the evening before, of course, but it was enough of an echo to break the ice. Brendan felt his lips twitch.

"So, this wee girlfriend of yours…" Brian had teased, and the money became the centre of their relationship again.

It wasn't until a month later that they kissed. They were meeting some contact of Brian's, a new supplier. Not a good one.

They'd had to make a dash for it. They'd run. Through all the dodgiest part of town, into people's gardens, laughing most of the way. They'd hidden in someone's garden shed, trying desperately to be quiet. Between a lawnmower and a tangled pile of spades, forks, trowels and rakes, their lips met. To Brendan it felt like all the good things in life rolled together.

Somehow they managed to get back to Brendan's. Maggie had taken Cheryl to her Nan's, and they got to Brendan's bedroom without being challenged. They kissed again, and started to undress.

This time they were interrupted. His Dad didn't just run off in a strop though, he stopped in the door way and folded his arms.

"My son's still a bit young for this sort of thing, Brian. I suggest you come with me."

Brian had stared at Brendan, tears in his eyes. "I'd rather stay here, if that's OK, Mr Brady."

Brendan had stared at him.

"Interesting," the older man had replied, "and what happens if I mention walking in on you with my teenage son to the police, do you think?"

"He's closer to my age than yours!" Brendan had shouted.

His father was unperturbed, his eyes still on Brian. "I don't think that'll bother the police much, son."

Brian closed his eyes, then said "I'm sorry Brendan," and walked out of his room.

Brendan sat listening to his father fuck his first kiss for the best part of an hour. The pants sounded completely different. They weren't sweet; they were scared, anguished. They haunted him in a different way.

He never let Brian come over after that, and though they worked together, it was the end of their relationship. Brendan didn't mind much after a while. A boy in his school had really caught his attention – tall, muscular, handsome and cunning, Pete soon thought he was as involved in Brendan's business as Brendan was. He was great at getting out of scrapes. Brian's charms paled into insignificance next to Peter.

The business grew. No one seemed to mind.

…..

Brendan turned sixteen. The business grew. He didn't dare make a move on Peter, mostly because he was worried about his Dad interfering. He stayed at school, realising that the best place to work with his current trade was in a club or a pub, and he wasn't old enough yet, so he needed something to do. He approached seventeen. He started an affair with a lad his age who'd become addicted to one of the questionable substances he sold. When his father interrupted them, he didn't interfere. Brendan decided that was more to do with attraction than age.

On his seventeenth birthday his Dad took him to a pub, lying to the bloke behind the bar about which birthday it was, despite clearly knowing him well. His father said some of the first nice things he ever had to him. Afterwards they'd walked home a little merry, singing. His Dad steered him down an alley.

"Dad, this isn't the way!" he laughed, assuming his Dad was even drunker than he appeared.

But his Dad looked at him seriously, "No, son, this is where we're going."

A car pulled up at the end of the alley, and three men got out. They greeted his Dad like old friends, then the men who arrived behind them. They bunched together around the car, and a couple of them opened the boot. Brendan's Dad held him back a moment, grabbing him by the upper arm, "If you say a word tonight, I will break this arm, do you understand me?"

Brendan nodded. He believed him.

The men at the car pulled out what looked like a life-size manikin, then dropped it unceremoniously onto the ground, where it groaned. One of the men kicked it in the stomach, and Brendan realised who it was.

Brian.

"They found him in bed with some bloke," his father whispered, "the boyfriend got a way, but Brian there's in a bit of trouble."

A mixture of words were being shouted at the figure on the ground. "Queer" "junky" "piece of shit" bastard all featured heavily. Brendan felt sick. Each time a new blow landed, Brian made a sickening noise.

Brendan tried to pull out of his father's grasp, to run towards his friend. His father gave him a good clip round the ear and called him a poof. "Why aren't you helping?" he demanded.

His father hit him again for this stupidity in front of these men and said, "Now you know. This is what happens when you get caught. You keep them under, and you find a girl, or that shit happens to you."

…

He asked Eileen to marry him the next day. She'd said yes, but to wait until they were both eighteen. He started seeing her differently after that; never used he to traffic again, looked after her.

Brian's contacts became his contacts without any fuss. He read in the paper about vigilante action putting a drug dealer in hospital. Maybe the truth was somewhere between his father's words and those.

A few weeks later Cheryl went to an Irish dancing competition in Derry. Her Ma took her, and the pair had to stay over Saturday night to be ready on time in the morning. Brendan's father brought home 'the new bloke from work.'

He was young, maybe a couple of years older than Brendan, skinny, with mousy hair. Brendan thought he was pretty, except for the deadness around the eyes. His father showed him "how to not get caught." The young man had bruises all over his abdomen, and three more by the time he left.

At his father's insistence, Brendan took the man ('boy,' his father had insisted on calling him 'boy') upstairs and fucked him, using a condom his Dad had given him and the spit from his mouth. It wasn't pleasant for either of them.

The second time his father brought him home, when Cheryl and Maggie were at Cheryl's cousin's christening, Brendan had dug out a wad of cash, slipped it into the boy's clothes, and told him to get as far away from there as possible. The boy did exactly that, and Brendan enjoyed winding his father up about it. It resulted in a fist fight. Brendan didn't win.

Brendan's father found strange times and excuses to bring boys home. He called it sharing. It took some pressure off Brendan to hide it.

When he left school he arranged a camping trip with Peter. It went horribly wrong. When he got out of hospital he married Eileen in a whirlwind of shame and guilt. They rented a flat, had a stillborn baby, then a beautiful boy they called Declan.

Brendan swore he was nothing like his father.

After some heat over his business, Brendan took a job with a contact in Liverpool. He decided he wasn't going to hurt anyone he slept with, whatever his father said.

When Vinnie accidently let slip to Danny about them, his mind changed.


	14. Chapter 13

Brendan crashed into Steven's door and pounded on it with all his might,. He shouted Stephen's name again and again, then shouted back to Amy for the key. She was still too far away; obviously she had no fear fuelled adrenaline making her feet fly.

He would have to break in then.

…

Every muscle in Ste's body hurt. The door of his flat seemed to have walked itself an extra mile away from his bedroom.

He could hear Lucas crying, calling 'Daddy' but he had to get to the door. Someone was banging on it. He hoped it was Amy.

He held his pyjama bottoms closed and up by hand.

He opened the door to reveal a terrified face.

"Stephen!" Brendan burst through the doorway. "Jesus Christ, you look… are you… fuck!" Brendan tried to grab him. He flinched away. It might have meant to be a hug, but that made little difference to Ste right now. He needed to shower for a week.

"Are you … are you all right?" His lover asked, voice shaking. Ste could barely look at him.

He ignored the question. Obviously he wasn't all right.

"Please," he said instead, "go to the kid's room, take Lucas and find Amy. I can't let him see me like this."

Brendan looked bewildered. "Stephen, what happened? Where's my…"

"Brendan," Ste interrupted, quietly, "please, I need you to take Lucas to Amy. He's screaming."

"She's only…"

"Please!"

Ste moved back clearing space for Brendan to get through, and sighed in relief when Brendan, with a small sound of annoyance, brushed past him gently.

He stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door, listening to Brendan.

"Come on little man," he was cooing over Lucas's desperate sobs. Ste almost crumbled right then under the pain of need to comfort his son, to take the child into his arms. But he couldn't hold a doll right in his arms at that moment, and Ste wouldn't be a comfort, looking as he did, he'd be some sort of nightmare. "Daddy can't come right now, but we can go get your Ma, yeah? How does that sound?" Brendan continued, his voice getting quieter as he travelled through and out of the flat.

When Brendan had gone, the house wasn't as quiet as Ste had hoped. A scraping noise came from the bedroom, followed by groans and footsteps.

"Boy!" shouted the old man, "that was a very stupid thing ye just did."

Ste closed his eyes, and tried to stay silent, burying the sobs. Brady might have been in his fifties, but Ste felt broken all over. He wasn't sure he'd win another round. His head was humming, his torso bruised, and his left wrist wasn't doing as he wanted it to. His right hand was holding up his torn trousers. He wasn't exactly a force to be reckoned with.

"You could have just taken your punishment." Brady cooed, "Brendan would have realised you're no different from the others. It would have all blown over. You could have stayed with your kids, in your comfy little flat and that pretty blond girl of yours. But you, boy, you can't play by the rules, can ye? This wasn't even about you!"

The voice was getting louder and quieter as Brady searched the house for him, but suddenly all Ste could see was the broken lock on his bathroom door. They hadn't bothered fixing it in case Leah got stuck inside trying to be grown up (Lucas couldn't reach yet). He stopped breathing; hoping Brady would think that he'd left if he was quiet enough. Maybe he'd heard Brendan come and go. Or maybe he'd heard the whole conversation, and knew Brendan was searching the village for Amy, screaming toddler in hand. Ste should have hit him harder.

He looked at the scar on his own hand, and thought about the shattered photograph frame now scattered across his bedroom floor and through Brady's hair. Wasn't that a really bad omen? Did it mean the family would break up? Is this how it would start?

His breath was so loud now, blocked by snot and tears. There was no way Brady would fail to find him. His phone was in his work trouser pocket from last night, the house phone in the living room. It could take Brendan ages to find Amy.

"I know you're here, boy." Brady's voice seemed to boom through his head. "I heard what you said to Brendan. How far away is that girl? Does he even know where she is?"

The voice stopped. Ste looked around for a weapon. They didn't have any, of course, they had two small children. He wondered how much noise unhooking the towel rail would make.

As uneven footsteps got closer to the bathroom door, Ste threw caution to the wind. He grabbed at the towel rail, like a man possessed, pulled off all the towels, then twisted and turned the metal bar, desperate to get it free as his pyjama bottoms fell to the floor. Too late. The door opened effortlessly. Ste managed to get the bar free of its supports, but never got to swing, or even raise it in defence, and the fist landed on his cheek. The punch knocked him down. He collapsed against the bath. More pain flourished in his chest as his ribs hit the edge, and he dropped the bar.

Brady bent down, and scooped it up. "Aw, thanks" he said, pleasantly, "my head hurts a bit, this should save me some effort."

Ste put both hands on the bath tub and tried to stand. The rags of his pyjamas tangled around his feet. Tears fell copiously down his face.

Brady raised the bar.

Ste closed his eyes and waited for the blow.

It never came. He heard a loud grunt, and opened his eyes. Brendan was stood behind his father, one hand around the bar, a look of sheer fury on his face.

"Let go, son, this is for your own good."

Brendan wrestled the bar from his hand. It wasn't hard; Ste had quite recently hit the old man on the head with a photo frame.

"Get out!" Brendan's voice was quiet, brimming full of anguished misery.

"Brendan…"

"OUT!"

Ste felt his legs wobble, and sank down to sit on the edge of the bath.

"That boy will ruin you! You'll lose your family, you're business, and for what?"

Brendan grabbed the man by the collar, and dragged him from the bathroom and out of the flat.

Ste forced his body up again, suppressing the pain in his ribs that made him want to collapse in a heap and never move again, and struggled to the living room to pick up the phone. Reaching his arm for the headset pulled a cry from his lips and he heard the door to the flat slam.

He dialled carefully and put the phone to his ear with another flinch.

The phone was prised from his hand gently and the call ended. A further moment of panic flooded him but passed when he saw Brendan's concerned face looking down at him.

The older man paused for a few moments, and Ste was certain he saw tears in his eyes. "I'll drive you to the hospital," he said, "I'll go bring the car around and you can get some clothes on."

Ste sighed, he'd forgotten he was practically naked now.

"Alright, but I still need to call the police."

Brendan looked at him, expression almost dead.

"We need to get you to the hospital right now, we can sort out the rest later."

Ste had no energy left to argue.


	15. Chapter 14

The drive to the hospital was quiet and tense. Brendan kept glancing at Stephen, worried about what had actually happened. He couldn't be sure from what he'd seen. He looked a bit out of it, and at first Brendan assumed it was shock. Then he noticed how still Stephen was holding his head and suddenly worried about concussion. He knew he needed to talk to Stephen, to keep him awake. He thought about asking what happened, then changed his mind. He couldn't face that yet.

"So, did Leah say anything about how much fun we had the other day?"

Stephen, blinked, then said, hesitantly, "No, I haven't … I haven't really seen her."

"Oh," replied Brenan, "how come?"

"Er, well I was in late, wasn't I? And Amy had already taken her to school when …"

Stephen stopped suddenly. New topic needed. At least he wasn't ready yet either.

"So, erm, Cheryl's back tomorrow. I bet she's had a great time. She'll be telling ye all about it."

"Yeah," Stephen replied sleepily.

"Stephen!" Brendan almost shouted it, worried suddenly.

"What?" Stephen moaned.

Brendan coughed, slightly embarrassed. "Nothing, just checking you're… ye know…"

"Right," Ste responded, unusually emotion-free.

…

He parked his car in front of the hospital's main entrance, and took Stephen in, supporting him with an arm around his waist. Stephen let him, which he guessed was something to be grateful for.

It didn't take very long to be seen, with Stephen's head injury. Brendan stood, watching the doctor ask Stephen questions, desperate to know the answers himself, yet terrified of Stephen giving them.

When the doctor asked him what happened, Brendan answered.

"I think he was mugged, I found him in an alley near his home."

Stephen's look was so disappointed, Brendan almost changed his mind then and there, but didn't. The police were called by someone, and Brendan knew that Stephan was not going to be easy about that. Brendan was grateful when the doctor said Stephen wasn't up to it yet.

Brendan stayed with him all day, watching, waiting for some time alone again.

….

Brendan started to doze in a chair by Ste's bead. They had been sat in silence for a while. Ste was quite relieved. In the car they had got very close to talking about what had happened. Ste wasn't quite ready.

Then there was the police.

Ste wondered about the many times he'd not talked to the police about Brendan when he should have. He had only recently thought he could have saved Rae's life had he gone when he wanted to. Now he knew that was wrong, but he could have saved Brendan.

Not from prison obviously, but Brendan could have been sent down for life for the murders, and if Ste had gone to the police when he had threatened to, maybe Brendan could never have been accused of murder.

But now Brendan wanted him to lie for his father. He hadn't said as much, but he'd lied to the doctor. Outright lied. But Ste knew he couldn't do the same thing. He kept thinking about all the warnings Brendan had given him. Don't let him get you alone, stay away from him. At the time he'd thought Brendan was worried about being outed to his parents. Ste had been wrong.

Brendan had been worried about Ste. That, at least, had been the truth. Ste supposed that Brendan finally telling the truth about anything was a good thing.

But it meant more than that. It meant Brendan had suspected what his father would try to do. What Brady had tried to do twice to Ste. That meant he had probably done it before.

That was definitely a bad thing.

And that Brendan knew.

All that stuff about sharing. Ste had images in his head about what that meant.

He remembered that night before the Bradys had arrived. Brendan had kidnapped him, trapped him. And that moment on the car. Where would it have gone if Ste had said no?

He watched Brendan snooze. What would he do if Brendan had done… that … to someone? Anyone?

He knew what he should do. Let the police know about everything he knew Brendan had done. That amounted to three main things; the drugs, the beatings and Danny. He could send Brendan to prison for a very long time.

Or could he?

Even if the police believed him, a chav with a criminal record, over a man they'd already falsely accused, someone they would be very careful of for a while, could Ste actually be responsible for putting this man in prison?

Ste really didn't know. The idea of losing Brendan caused him physical pain now he'd got him back. Just thinking about Brendan with Leah the previous morning and the evening before that made him grin like Cheshire cat still. But this was something different, this was … he couldn't even think the word. It was too much. Ste couldn't run; he had kids, but he could stop they cycle.

He looked at Brendan. He'd thought the worst of him before without asking. He owed him that much.

Brendan shifted, and opened his eyes to see Ste looking at him. Ste shifted his gaze.

Brendan cleared his throat. "You all right?"

Ste started to nod, then regretted it. "Yeah," he said instead. "Er…"

Brendan interrupted him "Stephen, I need to know…"

Ste stared at his hands, "What?"

"Did… my Dad, did he…"

Brendan trailed off. One thing confirmed then; Brendan knew what his father had been trying to do.

Ste paused, trying to gauge Brendan's reactions carefully.

"No. He tried, but..."

Brendan nodded, and carried on, like he couldn't stop. Ste saw the tears flowing copiously over his face. Brendan was relieved.

"Stephen…"

Ste kept looking at his hands. The silence stretched. Brendan seemed to be waiting for eye contact.

"I'm so sorry."

Why was he apologising? If we were all responsible for our parents, then Ste would never stop apologising to himself. Was that confirmation of Ste's theory?

"Stephen? I am… I'm…"

"I know," Ste interrupted. He let the silence fall again before he said, "He, er, he said some stuff…"

Brendan visually stiffened, then rubbed his face in his hands. "Did he?"

"He said… you used to share…"

Brendan nodded again, "Do we have to… do we have to do this now?"

Ste's felt a surge of annoyance, "Well, the police are coming in a minute, I have to decide what to tell them, so…"

Brendan hummed through his nose. "That's what he called it."

"What did you call it?"

"He used to bring lads home, when Cheryl and Maggie were out. He expected me to… you know."

"To have sex with them?"

"Yeah, and erm, he wanted to teach me to control them."

Ste stared, his eyes wide, "What?"

"He was always scared of getting caught. When his Ma found out she sent him to a Priest, and, erm… I don't know, I think he erm… I think that's where it started. He wanted me to, er, to make sure no one found out, so, he wanted me to… to…. erm… you know… "

"He wanted you to rape them?"

Brendan looked startled, "What? No! No, of course not, just, you know, hitting them, not ever… I would never…"

Ste watched him, searching for anything that would guarantee the truth.

"Have you ever…"

"No, Stephen! I wouldn't… I couldn't!"

"But you've lied to me before Brendan, and the other night, and you've been stalking me, and…"

"Stephen, I swear to you, on my kid's life I swear to you. I have never done that to anyone."

Ste nodded. Brendan could never swear on his kids if it was a lie. He thought.

"But you thought he might…"

"No, not really…"

"Yeah, you did, that's why you wanted me to stay away from him. And why you had to ask. Who asks that about their Dad?"

Brendan, shut his eyes, then looked away before he opened them. "I was just trying to protect you Stephen."

"Like with Danny?"

Brendan fidgeted aggressively. He was probably the only person Ste knew of who could fidget aggressively. Instead of answering the question he asked "What are you going to do?"

Ste paused only for a moment.

"I'm going to tell the police what happened."

Brendan paused longer than Ste before he said, "Please don't."

"I've got to."

"Please, Stephen!"

Ste felt the annoyance return to him, "Why shouldn't I? He needs to be locked away where he can't hurt anyone else."

"I understand what you're saying, but…"

"What if he does it again? Do you want that on your conscience?"

"No, but…"

"I've got to tell the police!"

Brendan, put his head in his hands before he spoke again. "Think about Cheryl."

Ste paused, and frowned at him. Brendan continued. "You can't take her father away like that. And remember what happened to Jacquie, do you really want to go through that?"

Ste shivered.

"It'll be hard, but if you tell them what you know…"

"I can't, Stephen, Cheryl can't lose her father and her brother all at once."

Ste looked at him, "What?"

"She won't believe it Stephen. To her he's this sweet old guy who treats her and her Ma like princesses. he's the best Dad in the world to her. She will make your life and her own a misery and I can't do that to her."

Ste studied the sheets again.

"I still have to do it."

Brendan nodded, "OK," he said.

They sat still a while longer. When the police arrived, they asked Brendan to leave.


	16. Chapter 15

The police didn't believe Ste.

It had been a battle to tell them everything, to force himself to keep talking through the shame and the pain. A tall balding man who had introduced himself as DCI Walker had asked him a lot of questions, and raised his eyebrows at Ste's words. He'd excused himself and returned a few hours later.

"So, what was your relationship with Mr Brady prior to the incident?" the DCI asked, though of course Ste had already said, though hesitantly.

"He's my boss's Dad," he said, again.

"The father of Cheryl and Brendan Brady?"

"Yeah,"

"The same Brendan Brady you've been trying to seduce for the last year and a half?"

Ste was surprised, "What?"

Walker smirked, like he'd found the hole in the whole story, "We've been talking to Mr Brady senior himself. It seems there's more to this than you let on. Or less, depending on how you see it."

"What are you talking about?" Ste demanded.

Walker's voice got louder, challenging, "Have you or have you not been trying to get Mr Brady's son into bed for the past year?"

"Bren… me and Brendan have been sleeping together for over a year, actually!"

Walker checked his notes theatrically, "Oh, right," he said, elongating each syllable, "and of course, there's a good reason why you didn't share this information earlier?"

Ste sighed, "Brendan doesn't want people knowing about us."

Walker actually laughed. "Isn't that, Mr Hay, because it's not true?"

"No, it's…"

"Isn't it because it's all a huge fantasy, Mr Hay? In your head?"

"No!"

"We've been talking to Mr Brady, as I said, and do you know where we found him?"

"No…"

"Right here, in A and E. He had a few bruises himself. A rather nasty head wound too, and a black eye from about a day ago."

Ste stared at him, "I told you all of that. It was self defence!"

Walker moved his face too close and Ste flinched away, "You're expect me to believe that you, a young man in his twenties, was attacked by a grandfather, approaching 60, a religious man with no record, who tried to rape you, but failed, conveniently as it happens, as it means you don't have to explain the lack of forensic evidence."

"Have you seen my ribs?" Ste said angrily.

"Yes actually, and the doctors reports on them. It seems this isn't the first fight you've got into recently. The doctor told me you have a number of old injuries there too, and a history of similar injuries dating back over a year. Fancy blaming those on Mr Brady too? Though I should warn you, being on the other side of a sea is usually considered a pretty good alibi."

Ste couldn't answer. He was incandescent with rage. He had decided not to include Brendan in this. He didn't want Brendan to get into trouble when things had just started getting so much better. And he couldn't change his story again – it would not support anything he was saying.

Walker let out a satisfied grunt, obviously deciding that he'd won. "We'll be letting Mr Brady go now. If I were you, I'd stay away, and be grateful Mr Brady isn't pressing assault charges." Walker stood up and picked up his jacket from the back of the chair. "Good bye, Mr Hay," he said coldly, and walked out.

Ste felt cold all over.

….

Brendan watched the policeman go, his expression telling Brendan all he needed to know about what he had told Stephen. He sighed, sadly. He could only imagine how Stephen must be feeling now.

He wandered back to Stephen's bed and stood beside him, but didn't say anything for a few moments. Stephen looked at him angrily. "They didn't believe me," he said.

Brendan had figured that one out himself. He nodded. "So, you're going to leave it there, then, yeah?"

Stephen's face went from angry to furious. For a moment it looked like he couldn't speak he was so angry. He took some deep breaths before saying "Do you want to know why they didn't believe me? It was because I tried to keep you out of it! So they believed him when they said I was some sort of stalker! And that obviously I get into lots of fights, right, cause I've got loads of bruises and hospital records going back a year and a half about more."

Brendan closed his eyes. "He won't hurt you again, I won't let him."

"And what about the next 'boy' he finds?" Stephen managed to make the word 'boy' sound like the world's worst insult, "you gonna protect him?"

Brendan felt miserable. That wasn't what his father was like. "He isn't… he doesn't just go around… doing that."

He wasn't sure if Stephen believed him, or if he ever would again. Stephen didn't say anything for a while. Eventually he whispered "Did they talk to you?"

"No," Brendan answered, feeling sick at the thought of where this was going.

"Will you talk to them?" Hope was shining in Stephen's eyes, "If you told them how you found me, and about his sexuality and that he can be…"

"No!" He hadn't meant for it to come out so angry sounding, but he had to interrupt, Stephen shouldn't let himself get that hopeful.

Stephen looked at him, the way he'd looked at him that first time he'd punched him in the cellar, like Brendan had pulled the rug out from under him, or ripped open his chest with his bare hands and torn out his still beating heart. Brendan wished he wouldn't look so hurt. Why did he have to wear his heart on his sleeve?

"Why not?" Stephen demanded.

"He's my Dad, Stephen, I can't … I can't do that to my family. Think about Maggie and Cheryl! And think about Declan and Paddy, do you want them growing up knowing their Granddad's a rapist?"

He didn't expect Stephen to understand. He was right.

"Oh, get lost Brendan!" Stephen barked, "Leave me alone. I'll take a taxi back."

Brendan's stomach did a flip, "You don't have to…"

"Get lost!" Stephen was shouting now. Brendan got up slowly, and slunk out of the room.

As he drove back to the village, he got angrier and angrier. He'd sacrificed so much for Stephen, given him more than he'd ever given anyone. Even Eileen. His relationship with his father, the secret, Danny, and now Stephen was behaving like he was the one who had been betrayed. Nothing had actually happened. Stephen was no more hurt than Brendan had been every time his father got drunk. And would Stephen send his own father to prison?

Brendan remembered Terry. The answer was likely to be maybe.

Brendan started on the whiskey as soon as he got home.

…..

Ste went home in a taxi he couldn't afford.

He couldn't ask Amy to bring the kids up to the hospital just so she could escort him home on a bus. She met him at the door though, eyes wide the moment she saw him.

"Oh, God, Ste!" she gasped.

"It wasn't Brendan," he said straight away, suspecting where her mind would jump to.

"I know, he was talking to me and Michaela about you" Amy gushed. "As soon as he realised who you were with, he sped off. Next thing I know, he's putting Lucas into my arms, saying you'd made him do that first, and that he was driving you to hospital. He ran off before I could ask what happened. But… it was his Dad, right?"

Ste sat slowly on the sofa. "Yeah," he said.

"Because you're gay?"

"No." Ste glanced at the kids, but they weren't looking, "almost the opposite, but I'll tell you later" he mumbled.

Amy didn't look happy about that, but let it lie. She could always get Ste to tell her what she wanted to know. She carried on anyway talking anyway.

"Oh, but Brendan was great! He was talking to Lucas so calmly, trying not to scare him, then told me you were in danger and ran off like he was being chased by a gang of murderers. He was so worried about you Ste. Then he rang from the hospital every three hours, letting me know how you were doing and what the doctors said."

Ste wasn't sure he wanted to hear all that. He was working hard enough to hate Brendan already. And he should do, for not supporting him over about the police. He didn't want to know that he cared.

"I'm not going to see him anymore," he said, hoping Amy would just leave it alone, but knowing that it was futile.

"What?" gasped Amy, predictably, "Why not?"

"'Cause he… I told the police about his Dad."

"So, he left you?"

"No, I told the police, but they didn't believe me, and he wouldn't support me, wouldn't tell them I was telling the truth."

Ste expected Amy to hug him and sympathise. After all the times she'd told him to go to the police over Brendan. But she didn't. She stood still, a thoughtful expression on her face, as though she was considering her phrasing very carefully

"Ste," she started, "Did you ever call the police about Terry?"

He looked at her angrily, "This is hardly the same!" he said.

"Why not?" she asked, quietly.

"Because… you don't know what he tried to do!"

Amy's answer was even quieter, "I can take a good guess."

Tears burned angrily at Ste's eyes. Amy guessed correctly what they were. "Don't you dare feel ashamed Stephen Hay! There is nothing to be ashamed of. Would you blame a woman if it happened to her?"

"That's different…"

"How?"

"Because I'm supposed to be a man!"

"And you are! Brendan told me, the first thing you thought to do was get Lucas out of there, to make sure he was safe. Is that the sort of thing Brady would have done?"

Ste hadn't thought to be proud of that. It was just something he had had to do.

Amy took both his hands in hers.

"You are a brave, good, strong man," she said, "and anyone who can't see that isn't worthy for you to care about!"

He looked at her. He hoped she was right. This time.


	17. Chapter 16

**AN: This will be the last chapter. **

A couple of days passed uneventfully. Ste let himself stay at home and play gentler games with the kids, letting himself get stronger.

He was dreading returning to work. While he was at home, with the door shut, he could pretend there was nothing to worry about, that there was no reason to fear Brendan Brady. At work he would have to talk to him, cope with him. Ste had no real idea what to expect.

He received a text from Brendan on the third day at home. It read "They have gone. He won't be back." Ste stared at the screen. Was there a hope that this was all over then?

The simple answer was no. He wasn't sure he could forgive Brendan for choosing to protect the man who had attacked him, attacked the man Brendan claimed to love, however nagging that part of him was that wanted to understand forgiving a father anything. At least a father that had cared. Just like he knew he would forgive Leah and Lucas anything. But this was too big, wasn't it? How could you forgive something like that?

What would Brendan say when Ste returned to work. Would he make his life difficult? Would he try to make sure Ste didn't mouth off? Ste knew what that would mean. If he ended up back in hospital so soon, would the police be more or less likely to believe him? Probably less if Brady had returned to Belfast. But he knew he could make them believe about Brendan. He had Amy and Cheryl as witnesses, and, as the policeman had mentioned, a history of injuries dating back to around the time their relationship began.

So, was this the end then? Had Brendan's father tried to destroy the relationship and succeeded? Ste really didn't know.

He realised he had to go back to work when he spotted Amy having half a small portion of beans for dinner. She'd given the kids and Ste a potato each, but had eaten just the remains of the beans herself. She had tried to pretend it was not a big deal, that she was on a diet, but Ste wasn't fooled. He shared his potato with her, ignoring her insistence that he needed the strength, and went to work the following morning.

Brendan was in the office when he arrived, so he knocked politely and asked if he was needed that day. Brendan stared at him, his expression hungry, longing. "Yeah," he breathed eventually, "Yeah, there's a crate of mixers that need bringing up from the cellar, and the bar needs sorting."

"Right," Ste nodded, and got to it. He trotted down the stairs, relieved for something to do, and thought about Brendan.

He had expected anger, or at least blame. Instead Brendan had looked at him like he was wishing they were back in bed together.

The cellar always brought memories flooding into Ste's mind; the feelings of unlimited desire on that first time with Brendan, the pain and confusion of the punch. Maybe this was the new start they needed; Brendan knew Ste wasn't bluffing about the police, and Ste understood more about the choices Brendan had made, about why Brendan behaved the way he did.

Would that mean Ste could help Brendan learn to control it? Ste barely dared to hope.

He found the mixers easily and picked them up, careful of his bruised torso, before picking his way carefully back up to the bar.

…

Brendan heard Stephen's footsteps climbing back up from the cellar. He listened. The invoices he was supposed to be paying were forgotten the second Stephen had walked into the office. What he really wanted was to follow Stephen down to the cellar, lock the door, and make use of that beautiful body of his. If only the boy would stop trying to involve the police. But of course, he wouldn't expect Ste to want to have sex, not so soon after what happened. And he was not his father, however similar their desires were.

He gave up trying to concentrate and wandered, as casually as he could, to the door to his office. Stephen was just putting the crate down on the bar, ready to restock the fridges. He leant on the door frame and appreciated the sight for a moment. Stephen must have sensed his presence, or just heard his footsteps, because he paused in what he was doing, and turned the tiniest of smiles at him, before getting back to work.

To Brendan it felt like feeling the sun shining on his face after days of rain.

Then he rolled his eyes at himself for being so soppy, and went back to the invoices. But he left the door open.

The sudden voice echoed through the club. It sent waves of nausea through his stomach, and seemed to break his heart in two.

"What do you think you are doing?" it cried aggressively from the door.

Brendan had only ever heard that voice directed to him once, when Cheryl had discovered the lie about Malachy.

He heard Stephen's confusion, "Cheryl, what…"

"You beat up a middle aged man, accuse him of all sorts of awful things, lie about him, then expect to just stroll back in here like nothing happened? You evil little bastard! Get out of my club!"

Brendan was shocked. He hadn't realised that Cheryl had known, didn't dream his father would risk this confrontation. Or maybe he was just completely certain of how Brendan's reaction would be. That thought sickened him.

Stephen must have felt shocked that Cheryl would behave like that. Brendan stood and went back to the doorway, slowly.

"I never lied, Cheryl!" came Stephen's reply.

Cheryl's voice dropped in pitch, but grew in ferocity, "How dare you? My Dad is not a rapist!"

"Cheryl!" Stephen cried.

"But now everyone knows what a pathetic liar you are. The police didn't believe you, and neither will anybody else!"

Brendan felt the pain of that one. He imagined the tears that must have risen in Stephen's eyes, but didn't dare look high enough up the boy's face to see them. How awful must it feel to be called a liar over something like this when you were telling the truth.

"I'm not lying Cheryl," and Brendan was proud of the stability in Stephen's voice. He wasn't sure he could have managed it, "That man came to my house, bashed my head against the wall, pushed me…"

Cheryl interrupted, "You're sacked!" she screamed, "Get out of my club!"

Ste looked stunned, "What?"

"You heard me, Ste Hay, you are sacked!" Cheryl screeched, "Now get out!"

Brendan had been silent long enough.

"You're not sacked Stephen," he said.

"What?" Cheryl turned her screeching on him now.

Stephen must have seen his chance. Brendan wished he wouldn't. "Ask Brendan!" he said, "He knows what happened."

Cheryl looked at Brendan, her face showing how near she was to breaking point. Anger was better than destruction, surely? Brendan couldn't destroy Cheryl like that. "Well, Brendan," she demanded, "what happened?"

He looked at her, then at Stephen. Neither face was welcoming.

Stephen was alright. His injuries would heal. Cheryl would be devastated by this information about her Dad. He made a decision.

"I don't know, I wasn't there."

Cheryl nodded, satisfied. Stephen looked ready to faint.

"There!" Cheryl crowed.

Brendan stared at the floor.

"Fine," Stephen mumbled.

"What?" Brendan asked.

"I said fine," Stephen cried, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere near either of you anyway." He grabbed his stuff from under the bar, "I'm gone, don't worry, I know the way out!"

Brendan watched him go, his heart self-destructing. He realised that was all he'd ever done.

"Good riddance!" Cheryl folded her arms, and stood next to him, conspiratorially. Brendan said nothing. She looked at him. "Oh, love, you didn't still care about him, did you?"

Brendan made a non-committal sound in his throat.

"Oh, Brendan, you could do better than that, anyway. You always could. He's a chav who still lives with his ex, and was probably only with you for what he could get out of it."

Brendan looked at her, anger building in every part of his body. He mustn't take it out on her. It was the anger talking, wasn't it?

"I've got to go," he said. "I've got to, erm…"

He started to leave. Through the same door as Stephen.

"Oh, Brendan, you're not going after him are you?"

He started to run.

**AN:** **Because it is the will-they-won't-they of this relationship you all love, right?**

**If you want more, please find my story Sins of the Father, (which you can find on my profile).**


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